


It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding

by Boschling



Series: Light It Up [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 150,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boschling/pseuds/Boschling
Summary: In which Cersei has a pregnancy, Tywin has a shotgun, Brienne has a bridezilla, Jaime and Stannis have an evil plan, and Robert has the BEST! STAG! EVER!!!
Relationships: Arthur Dayne/Elia Martell, Beric Dondarrion/Thoros of Myr, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Arryn/Lysa Tully Arryn, Lysa Tully Arryn/Petyr Baelish, Melisandre of Asshai/Stannis Baratheon, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Series: Light It Up [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633588
Comments: 964
Kudos: 191





	1. Cersei (Start Again 1 of 9)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi old friends!!! Welcome to the sequel to Light the Way, set six years later! I'VE MISSED YOU!!! As a heads up, for now I will only be posting once a week on Mondays. (Because I normally would wait until I had written more of the story to post, but we're all in dire need of something to read right?) Also, though I don't have anywhere near a final chapter count yet, I'm imagining five arcs totalling approximately 40-ish chapters. My days of 115 chapter fics are behind me!
> 
> Hi new friends!!! As you may have picked up, this is in fact a sequel to a very long story. I don't think you need to read that story to figure out what's going on, but if you're really liking this one and feel like some of the backstory alluded to sounds interesting, give it a shot! Or feel free to ask me anything plot/background related in the comments. Things to know--all the main characters' ages have been smushed into a four year window, with Brienne the youngest at 21 and Robert the oldest having just turned 25. Also Melisandre and Thoros are siblings. You'll figure out the rest as you go :)

Looking back, Cersei felt slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t realized sooner. She considered herself to be the hyper intelligent realistic sort, after all. If she could say anything in her defense, it was just that she had been so busy.

She was getting a double Masters degrees in Communications and Finance from the Citadel. She had the upcoming fundraiser for the Summer Islands, which she would be attending as the plus one of notorious playboy Jalabhar Xho. (A good looking man, but if she wanted to be queen of a tropical paradise she would need to marry his sister. Hard pass.) That charming Quartheen financier Xaro Xhoan Daxos had invited her on his yacht for the weekend. (Completely brilliant with numbers and completely disinterested in women. She appreciated the way his eyes lit up when they discussed Lannister Corp’s expansion opportunities in the eastern hemisphere, but she wasn’t completely resigned to a life without sex.) Belicho Staegone, who was a shoo-in to be the next triarch of Volantis, wanted to do drinks. (Good looking, smart, and a political winner. There would be something wrong with him though. There always seemed to be.) She had taken over Lannister Corp’s nonprofit arm, she worked out with a personal trainer for forty-five minutes every day, and she volunteered at the children’s cancer ward on Sundays.

So maybe she had missed her period for the first time in her life. She scheduled a meeting with her nutritionist and moved on. And now the second month, she was sitting here in this grotty pharmacy bathroom, staring at a pee stick.

Hello, she thought numbly, aware that her eyes had started to tear up. Aren’t you a little scamp?

She called her secretary at Lannister Corp to clear her schedule for the afternoon and got an appointment at the doctor.

At 3:15, a kindly maester confirmed that she was in fact pregnant. He tentatively offered some pamphlets on women in distress—did she look like she was in distress?—methods to terminate the pregnancy—no thank you, this bun (that seemed too big, a biscuit maybe) in the oven was hers, all hers—and then a very good neo-natal specialist in the area.

She found a public park, and sat against a tree.

Cersei Lannister, 23, 110 lbs, five foot five, 32C, waves of golden hair, jade green eyes, pregnant.

How on earth was she going to complete her classes? She would have to defer the program, she couldn’t risk falling behind and damaging her GPA. She was still a go for the charity gala, but drinks with the future triarch of Volantis were probably out. Cersei stifled a hysterical giggle.

She found herself watching the televisions in the electronics store front across the street. There, across a half a dozen plasma screens, a flirtatious Robert Baratheon was talking to a bimbo sports reporter about the Oldtown Maesters’ spectacularly mediocre season. They were almost certainly going to miss the cut for the playoffs, but Robert appeared blithely at ease trading banter with Little Miss Fake Tits From Channel Four. He laughed at something she said, and the hole where he was missing a tooth winked at her. That’s your daddy, she told her little biscuit.

We dated for a year in high school. Then broke up. Then dated for another year until I went to college and then broke up. On and off in college until he dropped out to play football. Some flings for old times sake since. More frequently once he got traded to Oldtown.

I know he doesn’t look like much. He has some family money. His brother runs the business though. He’s not very smart, although he has certain people skills. Actually like weirdly good people skills. Very bad temper. Drinks a lot. Basically the emotional intelligence of a child. But he can be sweet too, and funny, and when I’m with him, I feel happy. Not in some grand romance kind of way, with butterflies and fireworks. More of a quiet way. Like reading a good book in a patch of sunlight. I think someday he would really like to meet you. Cersei hugged herself and her little biscuit. But not yet. First she had a lot of planning to do.

And then her phone rang. It was her father, Cersei realized with a sinking feeling. He never called.

“Hello?” Cersei answered cautiously. She tried to sound normal. This was a coincidence after all. No reason he would know. How could he know?

“I suppose a congratulations are in order,” Tywin Lannister said acidly.

~~~~

“So the long and short of it is that I can marry Robert or he’ll cut me out of the family,” Cersei downed a glass of ginger ale. It really didn’t have the same bite as champagne. Her siblings were across the table from her looking stricken.

“Here,” Tyrion pushed his glass of wine over, having to stand on the chair to reach her. “If anyone deserves a sip it’s you. The biscuit will understand.”

“Robert has money,” Jaime frowned. “Screw father, you can live off child support payments for the rest of your life.”

“It’s not the money,” Cersei snapped. Because honestly, did he really think she wasn’t capable of earning her own living? She’d turned down a dozen consulting jobs to pursue her masters. But she had only ever wanted to work at Lannister Corp.

“Would it really be so bad?” Tyrion asked hesitantly. “Marrying Robert? I mean I kind of always assumed you would eventually—“

“How can you even suggest something like that?” Jaime snarled. “Of course it would be that bad! It’s ROBERT!”

“Do you have any other suggestions?” Cersei massaged her temples.

Jaime stared at her blankly for a second.

“We’ll run away,” he said suddenly, the light catching his golden hair like some sort of story book hero. She could almost hear the crescendo of dramatic music.

“Excuse me?!” Cersei blurted, taken aback. Had he lost his fucking mind?!

“You and me, we’ll catch a boat to Pentos. Live under assumed names. Father will never find us. We can start over with the biscuit. It never needs to know the name Lannister.”

“I like the name Lannister!”

“Sacrifices have to be made Cersei,” Jaime shushed her.

“We don’t have a boat!”

“Tyrion can get us a boat.”

“What about Brienne? Isn’t she still in Hardhome?”

“She’ll follow after once it’s safe. She’ll understand.”

Cersei caved and took a long drink of Tyrion’s wine.

“It is very sweet of you to offer to run away with me and raise this child. But I want the Lannister name, I want the Lannister money, and I want the damn Lannister corporation,” she growled. “Your saint of a girlfriend does not deserve to be abandoned in the arctic tundra with no explanation and I’m not just letting my biscuit row with us across the Narrow Sea! That could take years!”

Jaime shook his head as if he were disappointed in her. Morons. High and low, she was surrounded by morons.

“I wonder what Robert will say?” Tyrion mused.

~~~~

“Marry me,” Robert Baratheon said bluntly, flopping down at the seat across from her in the Citadel library.

He was still irritatingly good looking, with black hair, dark blue eyes, broad shoulders and a boyish smile. As of two months ago, he’d had an eight pack that she could bounce a dime off.

Cersei glared at him.

“Who told you?” She said brusquely.

“Tywin, Tyrion and Renly,” Robert ticked them off on his hand. She hated her family. And his family. And him.

Cersei abruptly stood up to go. Robert quickly snagged her backpack and held it out of reach. Cersei rolled her eyes and left anyway.

Robert caught up with her as she was walking across the quad in front of the library, hurrying to block her path.

“Marry me,” he said, dropping to one knee. He fumbled in his pocket and opened a ring box.

Cersei did a double-take.

“Is that... my mother’s ring?” She said slowly.

“Tywin gave it to me,” Robert said sheepishly.

“What exactly did he say in your conversation with him?”

“That you were preggers and he expected me to do the honorable thing. And if I didn’t, accidents happened on the football field every day. And wouldn’t it be a shame if something happened and I could never play again?”

“Right,” Cersei sighed. “Give me the ring.”

“Is that a yes?” Robert asked hopefully.

“It’s a give me my dead mother’s ring before your stupid fat fingers manage to drop it down a storm drain!” Cersei snapped, her eyes unexpectedly welling with tears again. It had to be pregnancy hormones.

“Right here, don’t cry,” Robert said frantically, giving her the ring. “Do you want your book bag back too?”

Cersei shook her head, took the ring, and kept walking, sniffling and trying to blot her tears without smudging her makeup.

Robert trotted after, still carrying her books.

“Are you mad? Don’t be mad, I’m sorry,” he was babbling. “We don’t have to get married, I don’t need a career in professional football, I’ll just um... work for Stannis I guess,” he continued uncertainly. “Do you need money? We should probably move you out of the student dorms right? Somewhere closer to classes?”

They were now walking along the bluff over the ocean and Cersei stopped with a sigh.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told Robert. “We absolutely have to get married. And I’m dropping out.”

“Oh,” Robert managed, stymied. “But you were so excited about getting your degree?”

“The baby is more important,” Cersei said, but he was right, she had been excited about her classes and her degree and all of a sudden a hiccup of a sob escaped her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Robert immediately engulfed her in a bear hug.

“Nothing’s happening the way it’s supposed to,” Cersei mumbled, burying her head in his chest where she wouldn’t have to see his face. She was supposed to be an It Girl. Thirty and flirty and thriving. The CEO who leaned in, a cell phone in one hand and a pacifier in another. Not some graduate drop out. Robert stroked her hair gently. “I had a plan,” she sniffled.

“I know,” Robert said soothingly. “But it’s more exciting this way, right? We’re having a baby, Queenie!” He kissed the crown of her head. “You’re going to be such a kickass mom.”

“I will be the best mom,” Cersei agreed, her shuddering sobs gradually slowing. She pulled back.

“I’m sorry you have to marry me,” she said glumly.

Robert blinked.

“I’ve literally always wanted to marry you,” he said. “Didn’t you know that? Like since high school.”

Cersei gave him a tremulous smile.

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“But you said my father threatened you.”

“He totally did,” Robert shrugged. “But I would have proposed anyway.”

“You would have?” Cersei said shyly.

Robert sighed and looked around. He spotted a can of diet soda in her book bag.

“Hang on,” he said. He opened the can and snapped off the tab in his hand. He got on one knee again and held out the little silver band of aluminum.

“Cersei Joanna Lannister, you are the smartest, sexiest, funniest girl I know. You’ve dumped me like eight different times, you’re a royal pain in the ass, I literally never know what you’re talking about, and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to figure it out. Will you marry me?”

“This is the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Cersei sniffed, wiping her eyes. Freaking pregnancy hormones. Then she held her hand out so he could slip the soda tab onto her ring finger.

“So are we getting married before or after you pop the little squirt out?” Robert grinned.

“Before!” Cersei snapped. Did he want biscuit to be born a bastard?!

“Lot of planning,” Robert shrugged.

Oh gods. He was right. She couldn’t get married with a baby bump! And most first time mothers started showing at four months. That meant she had less than two months to plan the most spectacular wedding the world had ever seen. The social event of the decade! No, the century! Mace Tyrell’s wedding two years ago would be small potatoes in comparison. Ned Stark had gotten married in his backyard. His backyard! No, this was a Lannister wedding and it would be the greatest Lannister wedding of all time. They were going to do this right. And every second counted.

“You’re in charge of music,” she said.

“And booze,” Robert said immediately.

“Fine,” Cersei shrugged.

“And venue,” Robert added.

“Absolutely not. If I wanted to get married in a football stadium, I would be engaged to one of the quarterbacks that’s actually going to the playoffs,” Cersei huffed.

“We’re not out of the running yet!” Robert protested. “And I know how to throw a good party.”

“It’s not a party, it’s our wedding,” Cersei hissed.

“Eh,” Robert shrugged. Cersei glared at him and reminded herself that he was the father of her child.

“I’ll need to start contacting wedding planners, designers, florists, videographers, perhaps the chef from Crossroads Inn. Let’s budget for five hundred guests. I want a spread in Vogue of course, and an announcement in the Times. The official ceremony in the Great Sept, cocktails in the botanical gardens, dinner and reception in the courtyard of the Red Keep. An after party at some trendy new nightclub, with a few b list celebrities. Nobody who would overshadow me,” Cersei tapped her lip. She stopped when she saw that Robert was looking at her with a dopey smile.

“What?” She tossed her hair.

“You’re terrifying,” he said fondly. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Jaime was often fond of remarking that there was no other possible explanation for Robert’s freakishly charmed life. Maybe he was right.

“You are,” Cersei agreed nonchalantly.

“You love me,” Robert teased.

“Of course. But would I have married you? Different question entirely,” Cersei sighed. She had been dating royalty! Billionaires! International playboys! Robert only kissed her temple.

“I suppose Ned will be your best man?” She asked abruptly.

“Obviously,” Robert grinned.

“Stannis and Renly. Thoros?”

“Of course.”

“Anybody else?”

“Beric. Oberyn. Mace. Tyrion and Jaime?”

“You can’t have nine groomsmen!” Cersei scolded. Where on earth would she find nine female friends?!

“Fine, no Tyrion and Jaime,” Robert waved his hand.

“No Beric. No Oberyn. No Mace,” Cersei crossed her arms.

“Four?” Robert whined.

“That is plenty,” Cersei ground her teeth. She could ask Brienne. And Catelyn and Lysa she supposed. Fuck, she needed a fourth. Well, Brienne could figure that out. That was what a maid of honor was for anyway.


	2. Brienne (Start Again 2 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody that dropped a comment or a kudos! On to the next chapter...

Brienne took a deep breath of the crisp morning air as she stood on her balcony, clutching a cup of steaming hot coffee and savoring the northern sunrise. She had initially been hesitant about taking the spring term research position in the far north. It was an incredible academic experience no question, but she’d be a thousand miles from her friends and family and Jaime... 

Jaime had put his foot down. He refused to be the reason she missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime, working with her academic idols. He’d practically ordered her to take the job, and he’d been wearing a suit at the time and he knew how she felt about him wearing a suit... 

Brienne shook her head. The spring in Hardhome had been incredible. And even better, she’d been offered a summer job on an archaeology dig at the Fist of the First Man! She had been waiting to tell Jaime in person when she saw him—he’d been flying up on weekends. A year out of college, Jaime was now working at his father’s corporation and loathing every minute of it. But at least it gave him ample free time for his still-in-college girlfriend. 

Just then her phone buzzed. It was Jaime, and she felt a burst of happiness in her heart just seeing his name.

Whatever you do don’t take Cersei’s call. Or any call. She could be spoofing the number. 

Uh okay. That was... odd. But Jaime had a tendency to get a little paranoid where Cersei was concerned.

The phone rang. It was Jaime.

“Hi Jaim—“ Brienne began.

“That was a test wench! You failed! She can spoof any number, even mine! Do not, repeat DO NOT, answer the phone!” Jaime scolded her. “Actually, you know what? Turn your phone off. It’ll be safest that way. I’ll see you at the airport this afternoon and explain everything, I promise!”

“You’d better,” Brienne managed with a sinking feeling. “I won’t talk to you all weekend if you’re going to be weird.”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Brienne sighed. And then she turned her phone off. Because she did love him, even when he was being weird.

She had finished her morning classes and decided to go for a run on the outdoor track during her lunch break when she heard it. The impossibly loud roar of a chopper touching down on Hardhome University’s baseball diamond. Brienne clapped her ears over her head and stared as the sparkling white chopper gently set down, clouds of brown dust swirling toward home base.

Brienne squinted. Did the helicopter say “Lannister Corp” on the door? The door swung open and a slim woman with waves of gorgeous blond hair stepped out. Oh. 

Cersei Lannister delicately placed her designer heels down in the red clay, and even from a thousand yards away, Brienne could see the small grimace as the dirt puffed around the ankles of her navy three piece suit.

Cersei was Jaime’s twin sister and the most beautiful person Brienne knew in real life. She had a movie star glow to her that had always left Brienne somewhat tongue-tied in her presence. It didn’t help matters that Cersei was also completely terrifying.

Brienne was never sure if Cersei actually liked her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if Cersei actually liked anybody except maybe Jaime. But Cersei approved of her, and Brienne was constantly petrified that someday Cersei might change her mind. Because Cersei was someone you would much rather have on your side than not.

“Brienne, darling!” Cersei had spotted her and waved.

Keenly aware that the every last member of the exercise-during-lunch crowd was staring at her, Brienne pasted a smile on her face and walked over to embrace her.

In addition to being five five to Brienne’s six two, Cersei was built like a bird and Brienne was built like a linebacker. As they hugged, Brienne had her usual moment of anxiety where she thought if she squeezed too hard she might break her.

“You look amazing,” Brienne blurted, keenly aware that sweat stains were visible through her gray t-shirt and her hair, too short for a ponytail, was just a wild fluff of white-blonde mess.

“Amazing for now,” Cersei sniffed. “Has Jaime told you?”

“Jaime hasn’t told me anything,” Brienne said, suddenly remembering his cryptic warning.

“I am pregnant,” Cersei said, with the grave expression of someone sharing a terminal diagnosis.

“Congrats?” Brienne ventured cautiously.

“At any moment my entire body could balloon to twice its size,” Cersei continued grimly.

“I don’t actually think that’s how pregnancy...”

“We are working against the clock.”

“Wait we?”

“Yes Brienne,” Cersei suddenly caught her hand, her enormous green eyes shining softly.

“I have to marry Robert in the greatest wedding the world has ever seen and nobody can realize that I’m pregnant. I have just over two months to put together a ceremony and reception for five hundred people and I simply can’t do it without you.”

Brienne swallowed, eyes frantically skittering anywhere but Cersei’s plaintive gaze. 

Brienne’s relationship with Jaime’s father was a little… rocky. It hadn’t helped that the first time they’d ever met, Tywin had tried to bribe her to dump his son. And while Jaime assured her that Tywin had finally made his peace with the match, he’d certainly never said as much to Brienne. And of course she got along well with Tyrion, but Tyrion got along well with everyone. For Cersei to like her, for Cersei to approve of her… well it was something that meant a great deal to her. Jaime had enough reasons to keep his family at a distance. She didn’t want to be another. And even though alarm bells were blaring in her head, she couldn’t quite find the words to tell Cersei no.

“I don’t know anything about party planning,” Brienne managed.

“But I do. And I need someone I can trust to carry out my orders to the letter,” Cersei squeezed her hand. 

“Um, don’t you want somebody more comfortable with society events?”

“I want someone who will be loyal to me and my vision. I want you Brienne,” Cersei looked imploringly at her. Oh no. Not the puppy eyes. Why did she look like Jaime when she did the puppy eyes?

“Brienne, will you be my maid of honor?”

There was nothing else for it. Brienne squared her shoulders.

“I would be delighted,” she said firmly. Somewhere in her mind, there was the distinct sound of a lock clicking shut.

The soft doe-eyed expression on Cersei’s face immediately gave way to an expression of brisk efficiency.

“Excellent,” Cersei let go of her hand and wiped her palm on her pant leg.

“I have taken the liberty of having my assistant upload the wedding calendar into your personal calendar. I will have her email you the spreadsheet of relevant vendors, and I’ll expect you in Oldtown for the dress fittings next week.”

“I can’t next week,” Brienne said. “I’m leaving on an archeological dig on Monday for a month.”

“Oh no you’re not doing that any more,” Cersei shook her head.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about,” Brienne said uncertainly. “I haven’t told any—“

“Dr Cregan Stark’s expedition. You were offered the role two weeks ago,” Cersei looked impatient. “Obviously circumstances have changed. I’ve arranged for you to be a research assistant to Archmaester Marwyn in Oldtown this summer instead.”

“Archmaester Marwyn?!” Brienne goggled. “But he doesn’t even take undergraduate applicants! I don’t even have a focus in his field of study!”

“My father helped him out with some nasty business in the Citadel once, he was happy to return the favor. Is field of study an issue? He promised to add you a co-author on his article regarding lost books of history, but if you’d prefer to concentrate on history north of the wall, I think you’ll find him quite... flexible. He’s very brilliant you know. He can write on just about anything.”

Brienne stared at her. To be an undergraduate co-authoring an article with the greatest living historian in the world?! But she wouldn’t really be co-authoring the article, she reminded herself firmly. It would just be her name slapped on some piece of scholarship she’d never even seen. It was academic perjury, plain and simple.

“Absolutely not,” Brienne said firmly. “I really appreciate the opportunity, Cersei, truly. And I’ll talk to the leader of the expedition and see if I can take a weekend off to help with wedding stuff. But I’m going on this dig with Dr. Stark.”

“Oh Brienne,” Cersei smiled gently. “The expedition has been cancelled.”

“What?!”

“Well deferred really. The funding was pulled. I’m sure it’ll be available next year if you still want to go.”

Brienne opened her mouth. And then shut it. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You can’t shake a pregnant lady. Especially one who weighs like ninety pounds wet.

“So you see, the move to Oldtown is really for the best,” Cersei continued blithely. “Will you be a dear and help me with my luggage. I need to let the helicopter get back to King’s Landing before my father notices I’ve borrowed it.”

“Luggage?” Brienne managed. “You came to stay with me?”

“Of course! It’s not like I know anyone else in Hardhome,” Cersei cast a blatantly unimpressed look around. “Would you believe this school doesn’t have a single helicopter pad?”

Yes.

“How were you going to find me? What if I’d been away?” Brienne answered a little impatiently.

“Jaime said you’re training for a marathon and run at the track during lunch. I tried to call your phone but you weren’t picking up, so I decided I’d just find you here and tell you the news in person,” Cersei tossed her hair. “I thought we could spend the weekend creating a vision board. I’ve heard the air is purer up here so you think more clearly. It’ll be fun! We can get up six, do some yoga, have some tea. I’ll work on the guest list while you go to the library and pull the last five years worth of Vogue magazines. We need something that fits their aesthetic if we want to be featured, but of course it has to have the originality and flair that my public has come to expect.”

“Jaime’s coming this weekend,” Brienne said, perhaps a trifle sulkily.

“Well I should hope so! We’ll need someone to run out and get us salads while we’re haggling with the vendors.”

“I only have one bed,” Brienne said.

“Oh you’re sweet to worry. I’ll take the bed, you can take the sofa, and Jaime can sleep on the floor,” Cersei patted her hand.

“You wouldn’t be more comfortable in a hotel?” Brienne tried one last time hopefully.

“Don’t be silly, I’m staying with you,” Cersei beamed at her. “You are my maid of honor.”

“Cersei’s going to ask you to be her maid of honor, and whatever you do, you must say no,” Jaime blurted the moment he saw her at the airport gate.

Brienne bit her lip. Even slightly rumpled looking, he was dreamy. Blond hair that was darkening slightly as he got older, intensely green eyes that never failed to dazzle her. His chiseled features looked like something out of a storybook. And he had tried to save her from this madness. He was her knight in shining armor, and if she had to manage a thousand crazed Cersei Lannisters to keep the peace with his family, he would be worth it.

“Oh gods, it’s too late,” he groaned when he saw her expression. She nodded glumly.

Jaime kissed her and as she melted into him, feeling his arms around her, she dared to allow herself to hope that things would be alright.

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Jaime said when they broke the kiss.

Or not.

“My sister has many charming qualities, but she is also a micro-managing control freak with delusions of grandeur. I can think of no woman less temperamentally suited to be an easy-going bride.”

“I know.”

“Also she doesn’t have enough friends to fill out her side of the bridal party. She already made Robert cut his in half and she’s still short. I hope you have blackmail material on somebody because that’s absolutely going to be your job.”

“I know.”

“And Robert?! Have we mentioned Robert?! Wench, he’s going to be my brother-in-law! You know how I feel about Robert,” Jaime groaned.

“I know,” Brienne rolled her eyes at that one. She personally thought Robert was sweet. Sort of boisterous and messy and loud and high-energy, but sweet. Like a golden retriever maybe. 

“Don’t roll your eyes! He is the WORST!”

“I thought you thought Ned Stark was the worst,” Brienne laid her head on his shoulder.

“You’re right. Sanctimonious shit. Robert is the SECOND WORST! Why does everybody like him? Why does everything work out for him? Am I crazy?”

“Yes,” Brienne said soothingly, brushing his hair out of his face. “But I love you anyway.”

Jaime exhaled slowly.

“Wench, I’ve missed you,” he nuzzled her neck. “Why is it that everything feels so much more manageable with you around?”

“Because we’re a team,” Brienne said immediately. “And together, we can handle anything.”

“Even an apocalyptic wedding that will doom us all?”

“It won’t be that bad,” Brienne laughed.

“Perhaps you’re right. We should discuss after we’ve had passionate dorm sex. Things always seem brighter after passionate dorm sex.”

“Oh,” Brienne swallowed. “About that.”

They exited the airport to see Brienne’s car idling in the pick up zone. Cersei pushed her sunglasses down.

“Do hurry up Jaime, we’re losing valuable daylight. Brienne and I will need to sun tan for at least forty-five minutes each day to get a gradual even glow while minimizing skin damage.”

“Oh no,” Jaime froze.

“My skin doesn’t really tan,” Brienne tried to push back. “Also it’s fifty degrees out.”

“You can still get a suntan in the cold,” Cersei waved away the objection. “We can drink some hot water with lemon, you’re sounding a little strained. I need your voice sounding good for the big speech.”

“Speech?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll write you a little something. It’s important for all the speeches to run on theme. Jaime, don’t just stand there!”

Brienne glanced back at Jaime who was still standing forlornly in the sliding door, ignoring it as it slowly opened and shut on him.

She doubled back with a sigh.

“Cersei’s taking the bedroom. We can have passionate dorm sex tonight on the couch as soon as she falls asleep,” Brienne promised, linking her arm with his. That at least got him moving. 

Only they couldn’t. Because after an exhausting evening of sun bathing in the freezing cold, shivering over mugs of hot lemon water, applying facial masks and teeth whiteners, and watching a romcom that was nearly ruined by Cersei inexplicably rooting for the villain, Brienne was finally allowed to retire to the sofa where Jaime was already passed out. She had kissed him awake and then giggled as he pulled her closer, sliding his hands up her sides, his eyes glinting dark green in the moonlight as he lifted her top. She could feel him under her as he shifted, and she had missed this, missed him, and nothing could ruin this moment.

A blood-curdling scream cut through the night, piercing her very marrow. 

Okay, well some things could ruin the moment.

Brienne kissed Jaime apologetically and got off of him with a sigh.

“Cersei?” She knocked on the door.

There was another scream. This one sounded angrier. Brienne sighed and pushed her way in.

“That moron! That drunken boorish oaf! That obnoxious belligerent idiotic man child!” Cersei snarled.

Brienne blinked.

“What did Robert do now?”


	3. Beric (Start Again 3 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! For those of you who tuned in more recently, it suddenly occurred to me that I should probably give you a heads up that this is an ensemble fic. The first arc, for example, is nine chapters, featuring one chapter from each of the nine characters listed as main characters. My sense from long-term readers is most people don't mind, although a few reserve the right to only read their OTP chapters!

“Great work today, Beric,” his Evidence professor smiled benignly at him. Beric beamed.

“Gunner,” someone coughed behind him, and a number of the other students tittered.

Beric tried not to let his shoulders drop. This was stupid, he was 24 years old, a law school student at the top of his class. What did he care what some douchebag students thought about him?

It would have just been nice for law school to be different from college. Or college to have been different from high school. He sent a mental prayer to the universe that at some point this cliquey nonsense would end.

When he got to the student lounge, he stopped to carefully post one of the flyers that Thoros had given him for his pub’s trivia night. He had finished stapling it to be perfectly offset against the neighboring help wanted poster at eye-level, and had taken a step back to admire it, when another group of students came in.

“Oooh trivia night!” A bubbly 1L paused, no doubt attracted by the excellent placement of the flyer.

Beric smiled.

“Pfff that’s a townie bar,” one of the guys from earlier sneered. “You’ll get stabbed on the way home.”

Beric frowned. He opened his mouth to firmly lecture them that the income disparity in Oldtown was one of the highest in the country and they should be more cognizant of the tremendous economic privileges they all enjoyed as students of the Citadel. And also his boyfriend was a bartender at that bar so shut the fuck up. Then he thought better of picking a fight with his classmates and shoved his hands in his pockets. 2L year was almost over. He just needed to stick this out for one more year and then he could join a district attorney’s office and crusade for the downtrodden and this would be a distant memory.

Thoros was already at work when he got back to the apartment, so he cooked a quick dinner and ate it while slogging through his reading. Part of the problem with being a law student while Thoros was a bartender was that their schedules were almost completely out of sync. He went to classes at the Citadel all day, got home around 6. Thoros’ shift was from 5pm to 2am. By the time Thoros stumbled home around 3, Beric was usually sound asleep. And good luck trying to wake Thoros up before 10.

Basically it had taken a toll, because Beric had discovered that life without Thoros was boring, depressing, infinitely more irritating and definitely more sexually frustrating.

So when he finished his outline for the Criminal Procedure reading, he tried to turn to Patent Litigation. And instead found himself wondering how trivia night was going. Maybe he should just stop by and check. If people were focused on the trivia, the actual bar might be relatively quiet.

High Heart was run by a tiny woman who was impossibly old and quite crazy. Naturally she got along well with Thoros. Beric was not a huge fan, largely because she liked to address him as ‘Lord of Corpses’. A motorcycle crash in high school had left him with one eye, a fairly gruesome scar around his neck and several far more gruesome scars on his chest (which nobody ever saw but Thoros). Basically overnight he’d gone from being universally considered adorable, tall, dark blond hair, blue eyes, to being universally considered fairly alarming looking—gaunt, eye patch, etc. Certainly none of his charming compatriots at law school ever let him forget it. Lord of Corpses indeed.

So thank you, shriveled little witch creature. Beric immediately felt guilty for thinking that about an elderly woman who didn’t seem to have much in the way of family aside from her granddaughter and resolved to try and be nicer to her.

Fortunately his new resolution was not put to the test as he entered High Heart. Jenny (the granddaughter) was on duty and reading the trivia questions cheerfully into a microphone. Beric turned toward the bar.

Pouring a pint of beer, red top knot bent over the task, was his boyfriend of six years. Even seeing him was enough to send a spike of dopamine straight through his brain and he grinned. Thoros finished filling the beer, swiped the excess foam off the top (Beric felt just the teensiest bit inappropriately aroused by that—this had been a rough year) and slid it expertly down the bar to a patron.

“Hi,” Beric blurted less than suavely as he collapsed on a bar stool. Thoros grinned and slouched over.

“What are you having?” He said, pretending Beric was just a regular customer. Beric narrowed his good eye. He could play this game.

“I don’t know,” Beric spoke quietly so that Thoros had to lean forward over the bar to hear him. “What am I having?” He tried to lace it with innuendo. A smirk twitched across Thoros’ face, so it must have worked.

“You’ll have to speak up a little bit, I can barely hear you,” Thoros teased.

Beric blushed.

“A draft of the winter ale?” Thoros pretended like he had responded. He poured it, and Beric laid his head on the bar with a pout.

“There, there,” Thoros patted his head. “If that guy down the bar gets up and leaves we can reevaluate.”

Beric shot his most ferocious glare down the bar at the old man obliviously nursing his beer.

“You’re adorable when you’re sulking,” Thoros pushed the cold glass against his neck, forcing Beric to lift his head with a yelp. “Now do you want to tell me about it?”

“Law school sucks. Law school students are the worst. I miss you,” Beric took a sip of his beer moodily.

“You have me right here,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“I wanted to have you right here,” Beric raised his eyebrow. “You gave me a winter ale instead.”

“I have a good feeling about later,” Thoros winked. “Look at that geezer. He could die at any minute.”

“I try not to bet on other people dying first. I usually lose,” Beric said gloomily.

“So what’s happened? You left me a smiley face breakfast sandwich this morning so I thought things were going well.”

“I made you a smiley face breakfast sandwich this morning because you deserve a smiley face breakfast sandwich every morning,” Beric said. “And if I didn’t you would probably eat dry cereal and that’s not healthy. And forget it, it’s just my classmates being dicks.”

“It can’t be worse than high school.”

“I honestly think it might be,” Beric sighed as Thoros took a generous swig from the beer. In high school he'd always known the Stormlands crew would have his back. And then he’d met Thoros and things had gone from bearable to great. Law school had no such redeeming qualities.

“You’re exaggerating for a sympathy fuck,” Thoros drawled.

“I’m not! They’re completely awful! They’re entitled and self-absorbed and all they want to do is work at white shoe corporate law firms and spend their six figure salaries on fancy cars and trophy wives. They hate the kids who actually try in class and they make fun of the kids on scholarship and they’re...”

Beric suddenly trailed off.

“What?” Thoros looked up from the glasses he’d been cleaning as he listened.

“They’re here,” Beric hissed in a low voice. “That’s them! At that table near the back!” 

He nodded his head at the boisterous group of students lounging as if they owned the place. Jenny read the next trivia question, and Beric was appalled to see no fewer than two of them check their phones to look up the answer.

“They’re cheating!” Beric scowled. “They’re trying to be lawyers and they’re cheating!”

“S’good practice,” Thoros shrugged. When Beric frowned, he sighed.

“Fine, I’ll tell Jenny to make sure that group is disqualified if they win. Don’t you think you’re taking this maybe a little too seriously?”

“They are ruining the integrity of the game for everyone and they are the worst,” Beric bit.

“I feel like you’re missing what’s really important here,” Thoros smirked mischievously. Beric looked at him suspiciously, not sure where he was going. This expression usually meant trouble.

“What’s really important?” He said slowly. Thoros leaned forward into his space.

“That geezer is paying his bill,” Thoros whispered, his breath tickling Beric’s ear.

Beric turned slowly. He was. Suddenly this day was improving. And then it wasn’t.

The door slammed open, revealing an all-too familiar face.

“Robert!” Thoros said cheerfully.

“Gentlemen!” Robert plopped down on the seat next to Beric, sounding already more than a little tipsy. “I’m going to be a dad!”

Beric spat some beer back into his cup and started coughing. Robert reached over and thumped his back with a force that rattled every bone in his body.

“Congratulations!” Thoros seemed serenely unphased. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Cersei!” Robert beamed. Beric’s cough turned into more of a hack and Thoros got him a cup of water. Which allowed him to avoid speaking for a while longer. 

Cersei Lannister had been a year below them in high school. She was strikingly beautiful and more than a little crazy. She and Robert had always been a bit of an odd match—Robert was playing with a few cards short of a full deck and Cersei was playing with six sets of cards and some cyvasse pieces. On the other hand, Robert’s childlike disregard for others complemented Cersei’s sociopathy nicely. Or terribly. Depending on your perspective.

More disturbing in the short term was how Robert’s love of alcohol complemented Thoros’ love of alcohol.

“You know what this calls for?!” Thoros was already reaching under the bar.

“SHOTS!” Robert whooped.

“Shots!” Thoros echoed, slamming a bottle of high end vodka on the table.

“Shots,” Beric forced himself to smile. Because if you can’t beat them, join them.

Several shots later...

“I’ve never loved anybody but Cersei,” Robert was saying, looking at Thoros through the bottom of his shot glass. 

“What about Lyanna?” Thoros asked, finishing the beer Beric had abandoned. And then the beer the old man from before had abandoned.

“Psh that wasn’t real love. I loved like... the idea of her right? And the sex. That was good too. But the sex with Cersei is better. She’s like a sexy lioness.”

“Are lionesses sexy?” Thoros scrunched his nose as he tried to pry the still half full fifth shot from Beric’s hand. Beric allowed him to transfer Beric’s grip to Thoros’ free hand, so they were now holding hands across the bar as Thoros drank the remainder of the booze. Beric promptly lay his head down on their hands. His boyfriend. He loved him so much. He hoped Robert found somebody this great. 

Thoros was absent-mindedly stroking his hair.

“Is Beric asleep?” Robert asked.

“Just resting I think. Low tolerance.”

“Not everyone can be us,” Robert laughed.

“I’ll drink to that!”

“So will you be a groomsman at our wedding? I wanted Beric to be one too but Cersei said I could only have four.”

“Psh probably can’t find more than four female friends.”

“That’s totally it. I was surprised she could find four honestly.”

“She should just stuff Jaime Lannister in a dress. Boom, problem solved.”

“Ha! Wanna switch to beer?”

“Chyeah.”

“Hey,” this was a third voice, another guy. Why did it sound familiar? “Can you stop talking to your friends and take my order?”

“Can you stop being an asshole and fuck off?” That was Robert.

“I know you,” the voice said. “You’re the quarterback for the Oldtown Maesters.”

“Uh yeah, you a fan?” Robert tried to adjust the level of hostility in his voice.

“You could say that. I’m top of my fantasy football league thanks to you! Three interceptions last game? Ha you’re a complete shit show! I rearrange my team every week to bet against you!”

Oh no. Beric placed that voice now. It was the jackass from law school. He lifted his head.

“Burton Crakehall,” he said matter of factly, having to lift his voice to be heard over Robert’s audible growl. The boy from Lannisport was as per usual flanked by a couple of sneering lackeys.

“Dondarrion, didn’t see you there. What the fuck are you doing in a dump like this? I would have pictured you sipping Chardonnay in some Lysene joint,” Crakehall snorted, extending a pinky as he mimed holding a wine glass.

Beric glared.

“Perhaps we are getting off on the wrong foot,” he said evenly, trying to keep his temper in check and salvage some dignity from the situation. “Burton, this is my boyfriend Thoros Asshai and our good friend Robert Baratheon. Burton is in my year in law school.”

Crakehall gave Thoros a distinctly unimpressed once over that had Beric grinding his teeth. Thoros stared back, arms crossed. 

“I guess when you’re all maimed you have to take what you can get,” Crakehall muttered to one of his lackeys as they started to retreat. Thoros’ face darkened, but Beric grabbed his shoulder. He was nowhere near fast enough to stop Robert however.

Robert covered the distance between himself and Crakehall in a single bound.

“You can let us know,” he snarled, picking up the man and hurling him bodily into a wall. The bar went completely silent, as the remainder of Crakehall’s table stood up. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Crakehall bounced to his feet, bleeding from a cut to the head. “I’ll kill you!”

Then things escalated. Crakehall and three more friends charged Robert, who went down in a pile of flailing limbs. Thoros wriggled out of Beric’s grasp and hopped over the bar to assist. The brawl knocked over another table, spilling drinks everywhere, and the enraged patrons jumped in. It was really devolving into a free for all, when Beric spotted Crakehall slowly extricating himself from the scrum. Well that wouldn’t do.

Beric waited until Crakehall had managed to get to his feet and brush himself off.

“Excuse me,” Beric said politely. “I believe you forgot something.”

Crakehall opened his mouth to say something, only to squawk as his nose crunched under Beric’s fist.


	4. Stannis (Start Again 4 of 9)

Stannis groaned as the phone went off at three in the morning. In the pitch black, he groggily reached for it, his hand groping blindly across the bedside table. Finally he found it and cracked an eye open.

A picture of Robert mid sneeze greeted him.

With a sigh, Stannis sent it to voicemail. Trust Robert to get wasted and decide that three in the morning was an appropriate time for a heart to heart. Didn’t he have practice tomorrow morning? Didn’t his entire job depend on some measure of well-rested sobriety?

Stannis ground his teeth and snuggled deeper into the bed. 

He was just drifting back to sleep when Melisandre’s phone began buzzing.

Stannis groaned again. Not a good sign.

There was a pause as the phone continued to ring cheerily and Melisandre fumbled for it in the darkness. Stannis didn’t even bother trying to see who was calling because there was only one possibility.

“Hi Thoros,” Melisandre yawned. Something inaudible on the other end.

“It’s three in the morning and I’m a two hour drive away, can’t you ask Beric?”

Another pause.

“Ha Beric too?” Melisandre sounded amused. “Well I suppose that’s a sight worth driving two hours for. I’ll see you in a while.”

The phone was placed back on the bedside table. The bed shifted as Melisandre got up.

“Thoros and Robert and Beric are all in the drunk tank at Oldtown. I’m going to drive out there and pick them up,” Melisandre said.

Stannis grunted.

Melisandre went into their bathroom and the light turned on. Stannis rolled onto his other side. He could hear the faucet turn on as she began to wash her face and he moved the pillow over his head to block out the sound.

The bed shifted again as Melisandre sat down to pull her boots on.

“Fine, I’m coming!” Stannis huffed.

“As you like,” Melisandre said serenely.

Stannis continued to brood in the car. It was just like his brother. And her brother for that matter. They were two peas in a disastrous slow-motion car crash of a pod. Selfish, irresponsible, completely disrespectful of authority...

“If you’re going to keep grinding your teeth, I’m going to have to make you another dentist appointment,” Melisandre warned from the passenger seat.

Stannis unclenched his jaw. Robert got this from their parents, who were currently hunting big game in Sothyros. If anything, all three Baratheons had turned out rather well considering they had been raised like feral animals with a checkbook. Where Thoros had gotten it from, Stannis had no idea since he’d never actually met Melisandre’s parents, who had basically abandoned their children in high school.

No, Robert was their father through and through. Steffon had spent years assuring them that the family shipping company was fine being entirely managed by a board of directors comprised of half a dozen of his father’s golfing chums. Of course the moment Stannis had looked into it, it had been clear that the company that had been in the family for five generations was if not hemorrhaging money, not thriving like Stannis knew it could with robust leadership. There had been nothing for it but to graduate college in three years and take over the business and give it the kick in the pants it needed. In the last two years, Stormsend Shipping had consistently beat market competitors and their profits had grown.

Meanwhile, Robert was off playing professional football. Sure he made a couple million a year at it, but it didn’t change the fact that he was wasting his life doing exactly what children did on the playground. So much for being a contributing member of society. And while Steffon and Cassana had never once mentioned Stannis’ feature article in Forbes, there was nothing they liked better at a cocktail party than to name drop their son Robert, the professional athlete. Meanwhile Stannis was the one who graduated early summa cum laude, Stannis was the one securing the family legacy, Stannis was the one making sure he and his brothers would be comfortable for the rest of their lives (not an easy task given Robert and Renly’s spending habits).

“Don’t glower like that, your face will stick,” Melisandre teased, snaking her arm around his elbow and kissing him on the temple.

Stannis slowly felt the tension ebb away. It was not Robert’s fault that their parents could not be bothered to do normal parent things like care. He didn’t need their approval anyway. This life that he and Mel had built together made him happy and that was enough.

They pulled up to the Oldtown police station as dawn broke across the sky. The station seemed surprisingly busy for five in the morning. 

“Do you want to wait in the car?” Melisandre offered.

“Drove all the way here, I may as well get to watch you yell at them,” Stannis smiled. 

“I’m not going to yell, I’m just disappointed,” Melisandre said drily.

“That’s the spirit,” Stannis opened the door for her.

Frankly the police seemed all too relieved to be rid of them. Nobody was pressing charges, nobody was hurt... Melisandre and Stannis were escorted back as the officer talked.

The holding cell was full of all manner of disreputable characters, and Stannis would have taken some pleasure in letting Robert languish for another hour or two were he not convinced that Robert felt right at home. The man in question was retelling some football game to a group of college kids in Maesters jerseys who were eagerly hanging on to every word.

Thoros looked up on their entrance and waved, the movement jostling Beric who had been using his shoulder as a pillow.

“Stanny!” Robert shouted. “This is my bro guys, the one I was telling you about.”

The guys turned to look. Stannis internally sighed at the confused expression. They had the same black hair and dark blue eyes, but that was where the family resemblance ended. He was shorter and significantly leaner than Robert. Robert looked younger than his twenty five years and Stannis looked older than his twenty three. Side by side, it would not have been clear who the older brother was.

“Robert,” Stannis nodded stiffly.

“You three out,” the police officer snapped, putting an end to their touching reunion.

“I hope you are all ashamed of yourselves,” Melisandre said haughtily. 

Robert scratched his ass. Thoros yawned.

“I am,” Beric said mournfully, and then promptly clapped a hand over his mouth. Stannis eyed him warily but Beric managed to relax after a minute with no further incident, although the color had drained from his face.

“Well I’m proud of you,” Thoros said stubbornly. “Douchebag had it coming.”

“Did I have it coming?!” Melisandre snapped. “Did I deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night from my deliciously cozy bed and dragged from the strong arms of my boyfriend—“

“His arms aren’t strong,” Robert interjected. “He’s never beaten me in arm-wrestling.”

“You are a professional athlete!” Stannis snapped. “Maybe if someone paid me millions of dollars to lift weights I would.”

“—drive hours through the darkness across the country to rescue you and now it’s already morning and I’m going to have to use a sick day at the lab and you haven’t even said thank you,” Melisandre ignored the Baratheons entirely as she lectured Thoros who was looking sullen.

“Thank you, Mel, now stop yelling and we can go back to the pub and I’ll make everybody breakfast,” Thoros offered. 

“YES! Gods I’m starving, I could eat a moose,” Robert beamed. “Everything just keeps getting better and better.”

As he said that, the door to the police station swung open with a crack.

“ROBERT!” The scream was pure fury distilled into a sound that cut through the room like scalpel. Robert’s face fell.

An all too familiar willowy blonde stormed into the station, flanked by Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth.

“Hide me!” Robert whispered and dove behind him. Stannis blinked. Robert was still completely visible, as Robert was significantly larger than him.

Cersei Lannister marched up to them, and treating the rest of them more or less as furniture, planted herself in front of Robert, eye twitching.

“Hi queen—“

“DON’T—YOU—QUEENIE—ME!” Cersei howled, punctuating each word by whacking him with a rolled up magazine. Finally Robert picked up Stannis and put him between them again.

When the next blow of the magazine hit him instead of Robert, Stannis decided he had had enough. He caught the magazine and yanked it firmly out of Cersei’s grip.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Brienne, the most sensible of his brother Renly’s friends and easily the most sensible of this particular trio. “Renly said you were in Hardhome?”

“Cersei caught the evening edition of that,” Brienne said glumly, jerking her head toward the magazine.

Stannis unrolled the offending object. Just a normal tabloid glossy, the usual trash, weddings, divorces, bar brawl.... oh.

“Congrats,” he said to Robert. “Your stupid fight made the magazine.”

“Not just any magazine!” Cersei wailed. “That’s Yes! Weekly, they have three million subscribers! What kind of publicity is that for our wedding?!”

Wedding?

“You’re working yourself up again,” Jaime said soothingly, trying to pull his sister away from Robert. “Deep breaths. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”

BABY?!

“Explain,” Stannis growled at Robert. 

“Well when a boy and a girl love each other very much—“ there was a harsh bark of laughter from Cersei, “I mean when a boy loves a girl very much and she’s using him for sex because he has mind blowing skills in the bedroom—“ 

“Robert!” Stannis felt his fraying patience snap. “Did you knock Cersei up and not tell me?!”

“To be fair, I only found out like two days ago. Surprise, you’re going to be an uncle,” Robert patted Stannis on the head.

“That was forty-eight hours ago! Is your phone broken?!”

“Excuse me?” Cersei tried to break in.

“I knew it! I knew this day would come, you irresponsible idiot!”

“See this is why I don’t tell you things Stanny, you don’t have any sense of humor—“

“It’s a child Robert! Not some hilarious misunderstanding with the Myrrish mafia! Haven’t you ever heard of a fucking condom?!”

“Excuse me!” Cersei stomped on Robert foot hard with her stiletto heel and simultaneously smacked Stannis in the back of the head. Ow?

“If the two of you are quite done with whatever hissy fit this is, can we refocus on MY PROBLEMS?!” Cersei snapped. “Robert, I need to convince Vogue to do a feature length story and full spread of our wedding in two months, even though it will require them to completely reshuffle that issue. But maybe, just maybe, I can sell it as a universally adored and admired socialite marrying her childhood sweetheart. What I cannot do is sell it as some kind of appalling shotgun wedding to a drunken second-string football player with ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES!”

There was a pause.

“I’m not second-string,” Robert said sulkily. “I’m the starting quarterback.”

Jaime managed to grab Cersei before she could claw his eyes out, holding her from behind until she ceased struggling.

“Let’s all get breakfast,” Thoros interjected, pushing Robert away from the Lannisters. “Things will seem better once we’ve all had something to eat. Also, those guys totally had it coming.”

“You keep saying that,” Melisandre rolled her eyes. “What did they do, bring up the three interceptions?”

“It was one bad game!” Robert whined. “And yes, if you must know. And then that guy called Beric maimed and said he must be dating Thoros because he was too fucked up looking to do any better.”

Beric winced.

“What guy?” Melisandre said, in a very monotone and calm voice that gave everyone present chills, Stannis included.

“It’s fine, I broke his nose,” Beric mumbled, even as Robert said “Crakehall right?”

Stannis was very quiet as they piled into the cars to drive to Thoros’ bar, because Melisandre was very quiet. He pretty much thought his girlfriend was perfect. She was brilliant and stubborn and completely fearless, not to mention way too hot for him. But if there was one character trait that he possibly liked a tiny fraction less than her other character traits, it was her tendency toward psychotically disproportionate acts of vengeance. The last person who had really gotten on her bad side, one Kinvara Volant, had been last seen fleeing for Essos. And Thoros was family and Beric as good as—the Dondarrions had basically adopted them in high school—and Stannis was starting to feel like maybe warning this Crakehall fellow to lay low for a couple years might not be the worst thing in the world.

He, Mel, Beric and Thoros arrived at the bar first, followed by Brienne driving herself, Jaime, Cersei and Robert. He was annoyed but not surprised to find that a dramatic reconciliation had taken place between Cersei and Robert and that they were now holding hands. Jaime, trailing behind them, looked vaguely ill.

“And I’ll put a call in to Varys and it will all be sorted. I think we should move on this quickly to beat the evening news cycle. We won’t name any names of course, but it won’t be hard to let something slip to Varys, just between old school friends. We’ll do a follow up story next week. We should talk to Stannis about setting up some kind of donation in your name, maybe get some photos with you throwing the football with a couple of tragic looking orphans…”

“Talk to me about what?” Stannis said flatly.

“Oh I’ve sorted everything,” Cersei waved her hand airily. “We’ll just leak a counter story that Beric was being bullied on account of his disabilities, when Robert stepped in to save the day. By the way, Beric, you probably have a Westerosis with Disabilities Act case against those boys, but I think we can probably get them expelled without you having to go to court.”

“Expelled?!” Beric blurted, looking even more ill than Jaime.

“They were harassing you for your disability,” Cersei explained slowly. “Robert naturally feels very strongly about bullying people with disabilities, because Stannis has whatever personality disorder he has…”

“I don’t have a disorder!” Stannis snapped.

“You don’t?” Cersei frowned for a second. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Then why are you so… well, never mind. So yes, Robert stepped in to save the day, and he’s going to start a foundation to provide support for children with physical disabilities to play sports.”

“Robert didn’t save me!” Beric interjected. “And I wasn’t being bullied, or not anything I couldn’t handle MYSELF, and I’m not some charity case that needs a bunch of internet strangers feeling sorry for me! I’m missing my eye, I’m not a quadruple amputee over here!”

“Details,” Cersei shook her head dismissively. “If any photographers try to snap a picture, try to look pathetic.”

Beric glared at her.

“Yes just like that,” she patted him on the shoulder. “Now how is Thoros coming on that breakfast? I’m simply famished!”

“Well you are eating for two,” Robert kissed the hand he was holding, and she beamed at him and Stannis hated them both.


	5. Robert (Start Again 5 of 9)

Two evenings previously, Robert had been woken by the sound of someone letting themselves into his penthouse high rise. He had been passed out naked on his bed, still clutching a mostly empty handle of bourbon. Which it turned out was handy, since he was dealing with a creepy intruder in the middle of the night and needed to defend himself.

As he listened to the footsteps—definitely two people—moving through his massive open floor apartment he tried to keep his eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. Once they got close he would spring and crack the bottle over the head of the first one and then gut the second with the shards. That was the plan. It was a good plan.

“Robert stop being an ass and open your eyes,” an all too familiar voice snapped. “I heard your snoring stop when I let myself in.”

Robert cracked an eye.

Tywin Lannister was standing in the sunken sitting room area, flanked by one of the Lannister security goons, looking deeply unimpressed.

“Well done. Now why don’t you get dressed like a good boy and get me something to drink,” Tywin said in a condescending sneer that made Robert wonder if he shouldn’t just stick with the plan.

Robert sat up and put the bottle of bourbon down with a wistful sigh. On seeing Tywin’s arched eyebrow, he decided to double down and dressed himself ‘like a good boy’ by stripping the bedsheet from the bed and folding it into a toga. Once be-toga’ed, he killed the bourbon and then swaggered past his guests to the kitchen, arcing his bottle into the recycling bin with a perfect jump shot from across the room.

“Tallisker?” He asked Tywin.

“If you have nothing less peaty,” Tywin sniffed.

“Nope,” Robert had already started pouring. “What’s your friend having?”

“Mr. Lorch isn’t drinking,” Tywin said coldly. Robert brought him the glass and then proceeded to go back and pour himself a much larger glass.

“Another?” Tywin asked drily.

Robert turned in some surprise. Tywin’s glass was empty. He shrugged and brought the bottle over when he returned. Tywin poured himself a second glass just as large as Robert’s.

Robert flopped down in an armchair and adjusted his toga. Tywin continued to stand.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” Tywin began.

Not really. More like how? Because this building had like doormen and shit, and his security system was pretty state of the art to keep angry and/or amorous fans at bay.

“There comes a time in every man’s life when he is called upon to do the right thing. A test of character, of conscience.”

Maybe this Lorch guy had special skills? Was he going to find a bunch of dead doormen when he came down tomorrow morning?

“For me, that time came when I was forced to choose between a highly lucrative partnership with a childhood friend and the safety of countless strangers. I speak of course, of the episode the press so affectionately refer to as Robert’s Rebellion.”

Hahaha, that’s right. Robert. That was him. They didn’t call it Tywin and Police Rebellion. They didn’t call it Jaime-Lannister-Is-An-Asshole-Who-Got-My-Brother-Shot-Rebellion.

“I have always believed in nature over nurture. A child with innate gifts will find a way to rise to the top, regardless of circumstance. Frankly, you have spent your life testing that theory,” Tywin was pacing back and forth in front of the gas fireplace, which he had taken the liberty of turning on. Sure, if you’re going to break into a guy’s home in the middle of the night, why not make yourself comfortable.

“You are not without potential. Your father was much the same way. Unmotivated perhaps. I have spent your entire life watching you squander the many gifts you were born with in relative indifference. I would not have let you get away with this…” Tywin made a vague gesture that somehow encompassed Robert’s stunningly expensive flat, his toga, the bottle of Tallisker he was now drinking from—“puerile nonsense, but you are not my child.”

Thank the gods for that.

“But here we are. You are now facing your test of character, as ill-prepared as you are. And I deeply hope you will do the right thing. Truly,” Tywin glared at him, and even though Robert would never admit it to anybody, he felt just the teensiest bit unnerved. “But if you don’t, rest assured, I can think of plenty of incentives to make your choice easier. After all, accidents happen on the football field every day. Just look what happened to my son. Wouldn’t it be a shame if something like that happened to you?”

“Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you want me to do?” Robert said tiredly. Because you know, it was three in the morning and he was hungover and confused and a little intimidated.

“You don’t know?” Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

The funny thing was that Tywin had been so convinced that this would be some kind of crisis for Robert. First, he liked kids. Kids were great. Cat and Ned had just had one last year and they’d named him Robb. Robert loved to visit them up north and toss his little namesake in the air and pretend that maybe one he could do this with a child that looked a little more like him.

Second, it had been increasingly obvious to Robert that even if Cersei claimed she could do better (and psh who was she kidding, he was the best), she didn’t want to do better. Every girl he’d ever dated had found him difficult to break up with, but Cersei seemed to find it impossible. She had dumped him when he graduated, then after getting back together and doing the whole long distance thing, she had dumped him when she got to school because he was being “clingy”. She had dumped him after an imbroglio with a cheerleader who could put her legs all the way behind her head. She had dumped him for flunking his world civ class. She had dumped him, she claimed, for the very last time when he had dropped out of college to join the professional football draft—but they’d still been sleeping together plenty and he knew it was only a matter of time before she yelled at him for looking at another girl because he was HER BOYFRIEND, and then they would be back on again. But that was so much work. This way seemed much easier. 

Plus they got to have a really epic party on Tywin Lannister’s dime. If she wanted him to enter riding on an elephant to greet her as she descended from a hot air balloon, that was fine in his book. Anything Cersei wanted, he was fine with. Including, whatever... this was.

“And would you say you are often subject to bullying?” Varys was asking in a sympathetic tone, pen at the ready.

“What?! No!” Beric spluttered.

“But surely you get some second looks because of your off-putting appearance.”

“I don’t have an off-putting appearance!” Beric huffed.

“So no second looks?”

“Maybe some second looks,” Beric grudgingly allowed.

“The subject was subjected to a persistent whisper campaign that made his life hell,” Varys said into a recorder. 

“I didn’t say that!” 

“Please trust the process Beric,” Varys shook his head. “And would you say that Robert has always been a hero of yours?”

“No,” Beric growled. Ouch. 

“But he’s very protective of the little guy? You know, the downtrodden, the victims, the pathetic losers?”

Beric groaned and buried his head in his arms. 

“I guess,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

“Overcome with emotion, the subject had to turn away. However, before he did, I caught a glimpse of a tear in his lone—”

“I’m not crying!” Beric snapped, lifting his head immediately.

Mostly he just looked acutely embarrassed. 

“I think it’s going well,” Cersei said, tugging at his arm and favoring him with a beaming smile.

“You do?” Robert asked dubiously. The smile faded markedly.

“I mean—you do! It’s going great!” He shifted gears. 

“Well I’ll have my people call your people about setting up a foundation,” Cersei said.

“I’m not sure I have people,” Robert admitted.

“I’ll have my people call Stannis and the Oldtown Maesters’ PR department. Varys’ story will run tomorrow, the follow up identifying this Crakehall character will run Wednesday, and I’m thinking we have a photo shoot with the children Friday to get some good press this weekend.”

“I have to be at practice Friday, there’s a game on Sunday,” Robert pointed out. Cersei narrowed her eyes.

“But the kids could come to practice,” Robert said hastily. “It’d probably be really fun for them to watch?” He hoped that would be okay with the team. Really all of this. He wasn’t in the best standing with the coach. Something about being consistently late to practice and bar fights being bad press for the team. Honestly Robert tried not to worry about it. He didn’t have time for that kind of negativity in his life.

“So how are you feeling?” He asked Cersei.

“I was feeling better before you got on the front page of Yes! Weekly,” Cersei pursed her lips. “I know it was a good cause, but I don’t have time to put out these kinds of fires before our wedding.”

“It won’t happen again,” Robert promised earnestly, squeezing her hand.

“That’s good,” Cersei rested her head on his shoulder, and he felt a giddy wave of happiness.

“Because if I lose my Vogue cover, this wedding is off,” Cersei continued sweetly. “To hell with father and to hell with you. Am I making myself quite clear?”

“Totally,” Robert swallowed. She cuddled closer.

“Oh good. And I told Jaime he could stay with you while he’s in town.”

Robert tried not to flinch. Cersei’s moody, sarcastic brother was the last person he needed to see first thing upon waking up. Well, Tywin hadn’t been a picnic. Second to last.

“He wouldn’t rather stay with you?” Robert tried to sound casual.

“Of course he would. But Brienne’s staying with me and if I let them stay together unsupervised, I’ll have to sit on my couch every day knowing my brother probably just had sex there.”

“Why doesn’t he stay with you and Brienne stays with m—“

“Really Robert, you’ll say something crass and traumatize her. I have a deep exfoliation treatment set up for us tomorrow morning at 5:30 and then one of those new massages where the Ibben masseuse beats you half to death and you feel marvelous after. Then we’re going to the ring maker’s to design an APPROPRIATE engagement ring”—she’d totally dug the soda tab thing, who was she kidding—“and I have an appointment in the afternoon at Argella Durrandon’s wedding boutique. So there’s no time to pick her up from your apartment anyway,” Cersei waved a hand. Brienne looked forlorn and Robert wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to be traumatized anyway.

“Cool,” he said agreeably. He gave Jaime a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Shall we head out Lannister? I mean, future brother in law?”

Jaime’s expression could have curdled milk and Robert gave his own forlorn glance at Brienne. She was so quiet! He probably would have forgotten she was even there after a couple days!

“I assume your eye sore of a car is parked around here somewhere?” Jaime drawled.

Robert wondered if this was one of those problems that couldn’t better be solved with violence. And then he remembered Cersei threatening to call the wedding off.

“I suppose my car is a little loud,” Robert ground out. “It’s in the back.”

Jaime’s completely unimpressed expression didn’t even falter when Robert pushed the penthouse button on the apartment building elevator, or when the doors opened literally in the apartment to a breathtaking vista of Oldtown harbor.

“Don’t you have rooms?” Jaime sneered, taking in the open space floor plan that some designer Cersei had delivered on his doorstep had created.

“Cersei likes it this way,” Robert said, a trifle smugly.

“Probably so you don’t have anywhere to hide your side pieces,” Jaime sniped back.

Gods it was going to be a long two months.

Robert hit a button and part of the wall folded down into a guest bed.

“Good luck child proofing that,” Jaime snorted.

“This is where Renly and Stannis sleep when they visit,” Robert said, trying to envision a calm tranquil pool. The team’s sports psychiatrist had told him to do this when a referee made a bad call. In the perfect stillness of the pool nothing mattered. 

“Robert?” Jaime snapped his fingers inches from his eyes. “Are you still there? Fricking space cadet, and this is who she wants to marry?!”

Robert’s hand shot out, grabbing Jaime’s shoulder in a crushing grip, fingers digging under his collar bone.

“Oh physical violence too? Yeah that’s a positive attribute in a life partner,” Jaime appeared in acute discomfort but snarked back, determined not to yield. If anything, he appeared determined to double down.

“You’re not good enough to marry my sister, you’ll never be good enough to marry my sister, and this wedding will happen over my dead body.”

Fuck the pool.

“We are getting married,” Robert said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. “And there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it. And if you try, well,” he squeezed just a little harder, “I know where you sleep.”

“Like I’m scared of you?” Jaime arched an eyebrow. “Maybe that speech would have been more impressive coming from my father.”

Instead of the pool he saw Cersei’s face, threatening to call off the wedding.

Robert let go of Jaime, brushing the wrinkles out of his shirt. Jaime glared at him, rolling his shoulder, which made an audible popping sound. Probably fine. Joints did that sometimes.

“You’re right of course,” Robert shrugged. “It’s just, like, you wouldn’t be the first person to underestimate me. And somehow I usually win. Maybe I just get lucky?”

From Jaime’s visible flinch, that shot at least found its mark.


	6. Jaime (Start Again 6 of 9)

Jaime groaned and turned, trying to bury his head deeper under the pillow as Robert’s snoring from across the apartment grew even louder.

How did Cersei handle it?! He hoped someday the biscuit would appreciate the lengths to which Uncle Jaime had gone to rescue him/her from the clutches of this ape.

Cersei would probably not appreciate it, which was why Operation Derail Wedding had to remain a secret. But the poor darling was just overwhelmed and dealing with pregnancy hormones and the stress of an overbearing father and if she wasn’t going to voluntarily run away to Essos to raise the biscuit with him and Brienne, he would simply have to break up the wedding himself.

It was partly for that reason that he had agreed to move to Oldtown for the next two months. Although he had ostensibly started at Lannister Corp after graduation, he considered his hours to be rather... fluid. And his father would hardly object to him supporting the family. Family, after all, came first.

The second reason was that Brienne had agreed to move to Oldtown for the next two months, and it was painfully clear that if he didn’t jump in as a human buffer from his sister, her entire summer would devolve into an indentured servitude to the eldritch horror that was the Lannister-Baratheon nuptials.

And the fact was that even though they were far too young to be thinking about such matters, Jaime kind of sort of already knew that Brienne was his forever person. So to have her exposed to his entire extended family, very obviously in the context and framing of a wedding—well, he had to do everything in his power to stop her from running away screaming.

So the prime directive was to save Brienne from Cersei. The secondary directive was to save Cersei from Cersei.

Jaime finally began to drift off to sleep, comforted in the knowledge that if nothing else, nobody knew his enemy better than Jaime. He’d been with her literally since birth. If there was anyone who could subtly undermine the notion that she should marry this loser because she had internalized her need for her father’s approval as a burning desire to run Lannister Corp, it was him. Plus how hard could it be? All he had to do was point out Robert’s many many failings as both a potential father/life partner and functional human being, but in a way that it didn’t seem like he was the one doing it. (Partly because Cersei definitely followed the ethos of shooting the messenger and partly because Robert actually was kind of scary when he was mad. Not in a Tywin Lannister ‘I’ll kill you and bury the body’ way, but more in an ‘I’ll get really mad and kill you by accident’ kind of way.)

So it was with drowsy dreams of living in a seaside cottage with Brienne and a very single Cersei living next door with her biscuit that Jaime fell asleep.

Only for Robert’s alarm to go off at 5. And again at 5:15. And again at 5:30.

“ROBERT!” Jaime finally yelled. “Get the fuck out of bed before I shove that alarm clock up your ass!”

Not that Robert awake was any better. That sound was Robert running a blender to make his morning smoothie. That sound was Robert starting the dishwasher. That sound was Robert gargling. For the stranger’s sake, he even walked loudly!

When he finally, thankfully left the apartment at seven, Jaime dared to let out a sigh of pure relief and put his pillow beneath his head instead of above it. First thing today he was investing in some ear plugs. He took some small consolation in the knowledge that even if Robert and Cersei did get married, she would undoubtedly murder him within a week of moving in. But then biscuit’s mother would be in prison! No the wedding really had to be stopped.

At eight the phone rang. That was when Jaime discovered the first thing he was doing today was actually painting a nursery.

“Pink?” Jaime said doubtfully, looking at the cans that Cersei was shoving at him. “I thought you wouldn’t know what gender...”

“Biscuit will be a girl of course,” Cersei sniffed. “I’m sure of it. A beautiful little girl who looks exactly like me. And it’s not pink, it’s blush.”

Jaime shot a look at Brienne who was shaking her head. Poor Brienne was already showing signs of the deep fatigue that no doubt lined his face as well.

“I’m think of naming her Genna,” Cersei said.

“After Aunt Genna? Why?!” Jaime blurted. Because Aunt Genna was almost as scary as their father.

“She’s the swing vote on the Lannister Corp board of course. Uncle Kevan always votes with father and Uncle Gerion and Uncle Tygett always vote against.”

“You’d name your daughter—I mean your child—after Genna to get a vote at corporate board meetings?!” Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“Really Jaime, I don’t have time to explain it all to you,” Cersei frowned. “Brienne and I need to go look at engagement rings and you have to be here for when the crib gets delivered.”

“Why?” Jaime asked suspiciously. “It’s a doorman apartment.”

“So you can put it together of course.”

The crib had dozens of interlacing parts that were supposed to form some kind of intricate Norvosi forest scene, and just trying to read the directions (which were naturally in Norvosi Valyrian) gave Jaime a splitting headache. 

The first time he was able to be alone with Brienne was when she managed to slip away after lunch. Jaime was spattered in pink—blush—paint, staring blankly at an assembled crib and several parts that were (hopefully) extras? Or maybe optional? He inspected a screw that might or might not be vitally important to the crib’s structural integrity. It was probably a spare.

“Jaime,” Brienne said from the door softly and he grinned at her, and swept her into his arms and gave her one of those slow motion romantic kisses from the old movies that Brienne loved.

“You’ll get paint on me,” Brienne finally laughed, pushing him away.

Seeing her smile made him almost giddy with happiness, that she hadn’t cracked under the completely unnecessary stress Cersei was putting her through.

“Be honest, how bad is it?”

“It’s not... great,” Brienne admitted. “If I don’t get to eat meat in the next twenty-four hours I might die. Seaweed does not a meal make.”

“My poor carnivorous wench,” Jaime murmured, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll take you to a diner. We’ll get burgers wrapped with bacon.”

“Mmmm,” Brienne smiled against his temple. “But I only have two months to drop a size. Cersei and I are dieting together in solidarity.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“You can say no to her. I’m serious. And I’ll do it for you if you want. I have a lifetime of practice. Just let me know.”

“It’s fine,” Brienne protested weakly. “Only maybe... do you think you could talk to Cersei about letting me go to my real job with Archmaester Marwyn at some point?”

“You want me to talk to Cersei about giving you more work?” Jaime raised his eyebrows.

“Well it really is such a unique opportunity, and if he’s going to slap my name on some article I was hoping to at least assist him with some research or even get his coffee or something,” Brienne bit her lip.

“You’re inscrutable,” Jaime kissed her lightly. That was his lip to bite. “I’ll talk to her.”

“She wants to spend her afternoons in some dusty library?” Cersei wrinkled her nose when Jaime finally managed to corner her as she stalked the aisles of a boutique dress store. “These are all too hideous. I really think I’m going to have to hire a designer and start from scratch.”

“Yes, and since you made her last job disappear, you are going to let her,” Jaime said firmly.

“I suppose she can work from two to five,” Cersei allowed grudgingly, “and we can do the real wedding planning in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Jaime squeezed her hand. “I saw Varys’ article made front page of the Daily Raven.”

Cersei’s lips curved into a smirk.

“It was brilliant wasn’t it? And such a good photo of Robert. And did you catch the reference to our wedding? I’ve already had a call from Agora about covering the ceremony—no Vogue yet, but it’ll come.”

Jaime had personally thought that Robert looked exactly the same as he usually did. Sort of good-naturedly vacant. Beric Dondarrion, nearly swamped in the photo by Robert’s larger frame, was looking at him with an admiring expression that bordered on pathetic. Jaime wondered how they had managed to produce that effect, since when last seen, Beric had been close to giving both Robert and Cersei a stern talking to, which was about as mad as Beric could get.

Regardless, he knew he had to get Cersei focused on the actual concept of marriage (which he knew she’d always been more or less bored by) and not on the social coup that would be a feature in Vogue.

“So when will you actually move in with Robert?” Jaime asked.

“When will Robert move in with me, you mean. Can you imagine child-proofing that apartment?!” Cersei laughed lightly.

“Have you ever actually lived with him for an extended period of time?” Jaime prodded.

“We’ve gone on trips together,” Cersei shrugged.

“A little loud isn’t he?”

“You mean the snoring?” Cersei smiled. “Doesn’t he sound like an adorable snuffly bear?”

“I would not have described him as an adorable snuffly bear, no,” Jaime said stiffly.

“Oh really Jaime, it’s nothing a pair of ear plugs won’t fix,” Cersei waved a hand. 

“And will he be helping with the nursery?” Jaime huffed.

“He bought the crib,” Cersei beamed. “Not quite my taste, but I thought it was a sweet gesture.”

Jaime shoved his hands into his pockets where they were promptly scratched by severally hopefully spare parts.

“Very sweet,” Jaime ground out. Robert Baratheon may have won this round, but he was only just getting started. Clearly reinforcements were needed.

“No,” Brienne sighed, possibly in dismay, possibly in pleasure, as Jaime kissed her shoulder from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I will not help you break up this wedding,” Brienne managed, despite Jaime nuzzling her with his stubble in a way that he knew secretly drove her crazy.

“Please wench? What if I put on a suit and asked?” Brienne had been known to gush over Jaime in a suit.

“Mmmm... I mean no! Jaime, I realize this isn’t a traditional wedding, but they both seem very happy and I think you’re letting your jealousy—“

“Jealousy?!” Jaime sputtered. “I’m not jealous of that buffoon! What could I possibly be jealous of? Being one concussion short of brain dead? His alcoholism? His anger management issues?”

“That he has a career in football like you could have if you hadn’t shattered your hand,” Brienne turned to face him, her enormous blue eyes warm with empathy. “That you saved the entire city of King’s Landing and somehow he walked away with all the credit. But those aren’t really his fault, and he has always been nice to you and he’s always been nice to me and…”

Jaime ground his teeth.

“I have known him my entire life and I have never liked him and it has nothing to do with those things! And you expect me to watch my sister throw her life away because he’s NICE?!”

Brienne looked unimpressed. His wench had clearly been brainwashed. Sleep deprivation, a restricted diet, beatings at the hands of Ibbenese masseuses...

“I’m sorry,” Jaime leaned forward and kissed her. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I’m just being silly. I promise not to put on a suit and ask you to help me derail this wedding.”

“Thank you Jaime,” Brienne smiled, and watching how her face brightened sent a warm rush of endorphins through him.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to give up this nonsensical idea,” she said as she melted against him. He stroked her hair.

Oh sweet naive Brienne. He wasn’t giving up shit. He could find somebody else to help him. Not Tyrion, who had always found Robert hilarious. Ugh, siblings. No he needed someone else who appreciated the gravity of the situation. Wait a minute... Very serious siblings...

“I’m sure you can appreciate the gravity of the situation,” Jaime said smoothly, cradling the phone in one hand as he hid from Brienne behind a couch.

“It’s going to be a train wreck,” Stannis said flatly.

“They’re completely unsuitable.”

“Indeed.”

“And you hate to see somebody with so much potential shackle their lives to somebody who will just drag them down!”

“I know! Are we even sure she’s actually pregnant?! This is exactly the psycho next level shit that she pulls all the time!”

Jaime blinked.

“Wait, you think Cersei is the shackle that’s going to drag ROBERT down?” He said.

“Well yeah, she’s a vindictive, manipulative, completely crazy control freak and she’s been obsessed with him since high school and...”

“My sister is a SAINT and he’s an obnoxious boor who has broken her heart countless times...”

“A saint?! What about the time that she spread a rumor that Lysa Tully had an abortion?!”

“She fixed that...”

“Or got that girl Ros expelled by planting drugs in her locker...”

“That wasn’t proven...”

“Or set up a website dedicated to Euron Greyjoy’s autoerotic asphyxiation obsession?”

“He deserved that...”

“My point is that she’s evil!”

“And Robert is a fucking choirboy?!”

“It’s an impulse control problem, not a demented god complex!”

Jaime forced himself to take a deep breath because if he screamed at Stannis then Brienne would definitely hear him and he would be caught.

“We need not get into specifics,” he continued, trying to keep the edge out of his tone. “The point is that I think we can both agree that this wedding should be stopped.”

“Hmph.”

“And the two of us have a strong track record of teaming up to stop the forces of darkness.”

“Do we?”

“Duh! What about when we teamed up to stop Gregor Clegane?!”

“You ended up locked in a room somewhere. Also I think Beric technically died.”

“Well what about when we teamed up to stop Aerys Targaryen?!”

“You ended up locked in a room somewhere. Also I think I technically died.”

Jaime ground his teeth. Then inspiration struck.

“What about when we teamed up to rig the school elections?!”

“Beric and I ended up locked in a room somewhere. Also I think Beric technically died. Were you even there?!”

“I played a very important role!” Jaime huffed. “Look, we will avoid locked rooms and Beric Dondarrion, and we will rescue our siblings from this temporary bout of insanity by any means necessary.”

There was a long silence punctuated by Stannis muttering something about Tywin Lannister not being his father in law. 

“Fine,” Stannis said presently. “I accept.”


	7. Thoros (Start Again 7 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I'm posting a couple hours late this morning--it's a federal holiday over here in the US and naturally I slept in... As a result, I also haven't done my frantic last minute re-read to capture any typos, so brownie points if you catch any and let me know so I can fix them :)

Thoros did not consider himself a morning person. All the same, when the alarm went off at six in the morning, he turned it off before the second ring and was out of bed before Beric had even rolled over.

He pulled on some clothes, cursing slightly when he managed to get his shirt on inside out and then deciding it didn’t matter and throwing a sweatshirt over it.

He stepped out into the small landing of the fourth floor walk up they rented in whatever Oldtown’s equivalent of Flea Bottom was. Even only paying half the rent, it was all he could afford on a bartender’s wages, and even though Beric and his parents would have been happy to foot the entire rent, Thoros was doggedly determined that they would do no such thing.

And if Beric minded walking down four flights of stairs in the morning, waiting at an exceptionally sketchy bus stop and then taking two different buses across town to get to the Citadel because his boyfriend wasn’t good at accepting handouts, he had never betrayed any sign of it. Which was part of the reason Thoros was getting out of bed at this ungodly hour.

He stopped at the newsstand that Beric walked by every day to get to the bus stop. Sure enough, on the front page of the Daily Raven, there were Robert and a frail looking Beric. Thoros rolled his eyes.

“How many Daily Ravens do you have?” He asked the surly proprietor. The man was glaring at him like he could tell a petty thief when he saw one and Thoros better not try shit. Prejudiced jackass.

“How many?” The proprietor sneered. “I dunno, two hundred at the start of the day, bit less now?”

“Right,” Thoros sighed, fingering his not particularly fat wallet. “I’ll take them all.”

Despite some aggressive haggling, the man refused to give him a discount for buying in bulk. Thoros retaliated by lifting several packets of gum on the way out.

It turned out it was not especially easy to walk back to the apartment with a teetering pile of one hundred and eighty three newspapers. Thoros stopped at every garbage and recycling bin he could find (carefully ripping the first page of every copy just so nobody would fish it out of a dumpster and spoil the whole thing), and had winnowed it down to about twenty leftovers when he reached the apartment building. Fine. He would stuff the remainder into the crawl space in their apartment where Beric refused to go because there were spiders.

He trudged up the four flights of stairs and had inserted his keys into the lock when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of Beric moving in the apartment. Fuck.

“I was wondering where you’d disappeared to!” Beric called cheerfully. “I’m making waffles!”

Thoros looked around their spartan and sad little landing for a hiding space. He managed to fit exactly one newspaper under their doormat. Great, just nineteen more to go.

“Thoros?” Beric called, and his voice was definitely coming closer.

Hastily, Thoros shoved all of them into the back of his shirt, tucking it in so they wouldn’t promptly spill out. With the sweatshirt concealing most of it, he thought he stood up to inspection reasonably well.

The door opened.

“I thought I heard you,” Beric grinned, still looking a little tousled from sleep. He was wearing one of the matching sets of silk pajamas that his mother was always buying for him, and his eye patch was a little askew, and Thoros felt his normal surge of affectionate incredulity that somebody like this was living in a shithole with him.

“Morning,” Thoros leaned up to give him a quick kiss, already edging toward the back hallway.

“Where are you going so fast,” Beric’s fingers wrapped in his sweatshirt.

“Bathroom,” Thoros disentangled with a gentle push. It was a moment’s work to hide the papers and he returned much relieved and ready to resume that conversation. Beric however had turned his attention to carefully pouring the batter into the waffle iron.

Thoros, who did most of his cooking in industrial kitchens for an already drunk and indifferent audience, was often amused at the strange gadgets that Beric seemed intent on filling their apartment with. The waffle iron had earned its keep though.

“When will they be ready?” Thoros wrapped his arms around Beric from behind, eyeing the batter with interest.

“Patience is a virtue,” Beric said absent-mindedly, head bent to the task at hand.

Thoros stealthily reached a hand out for the bowl of batter. Beric swatted it away without looking.

“What’s the occasion?” Thoros asked nonchalantly, continuing his stretch just a little further to try and reach the whip cream can.

“Us being awake at the same time,” Beric pushed the can further away.

“Beric,” Thoros pouted.

“Thoros,” Beric turned with a teasing smile. He placed a drop of batter on Thoros’ nose. Thoros scowled and wiped it off with a finger, sucking that finger sulkily.

“It’s all ending up in my stomach anyway.”

“It’s not always about the destination,” Beric smirked, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Thoros’. “Sometimes the... anticipation is half the fun.”

“If we’re still talking about waffles, I’m going to be very disappointed,” Thoros arched an eyebrow. Beric stepped back with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“I’m going down to check our mail. I’m expecting to find everything exactly as I left it,” Beric said over his shoulder. “If you can manage that, I think I can manage not to disappoint.”

Thoros promptly removed himself from the kitchen area and settled himself into a couch. He was watching a sportscast with utter disinterest when Beric returned. 

To his surprise, all of the earlier energy seemed to have dissipated. Beric tossed the mail on their kitchen table and went into their bedroom without even glancing at the waffle iron. Thoros blinked. Then he looked at the kitchen table. There, with all the usual bills and junk mail, was a copy of the Daily Raven. Thoros cursed and grabbed the offending copy and dumped it into the garbage. He went back and poked his head out the front door, nudging the door mat with his foot. The copy he had stashed under there was gone. Fuck.

Twenty minutes later, Thoros knocked on the door with his head, his hands being otherwise occupied cradling a plate with a waffle generously dowsed with syrup and whip cream, a mug of hot chocolate, and some cutlery. When there was no response one way or the other, Thoros pushed it open.

Beric had gotten back into bed, buried deep under the covers. Thoros sighed and sat down on the bed, putting the plate down on the nightstand. He wafted the smell toward the lump under the covers. Beric’s face peeked out from under the comforter.

“Take it—mine’s getting cold on the counter,” Thoros prodded. 

Beric pulled himself up and took the mug, cradling it in both hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Thoros went and got his, gave it a healthy kick of Baileys and then with a deep breath returned to the lion’s den. 

Beric could get a little self-conscious about his appearance, and on an already introverted person, extra social anxiety wasn’t... ideal? And it didn’t help that Thoros was acutely aware that if this situation were somehow reversed, Beric would be all understanding and sensitive and know exactly what to say. Beric was big on talking out problems. Thoros, not so much.

So instead, he crawled into the bed next to Beric and snuggled against him, slurping loudly from his mug. Beric look at him with a spark of tired amusement.

“So are you going to eat that waffle or admire my handiwork,” Thoros nudged him.

“Not hungry.”

“What if I cut it up into little bites and made airplane noises?”

“Please don’t.”

Thoros ignored him and cut a piece.

“Air traffic control to Beric, air traffic control to Beric, do you copy?”

Beric sighed and took the fork from him and obediently took the bite. Thoros pulled the plate over and balanced it in his lap. For a while they alternated taking bites of the waffle, eating in companionable silence. 

“I just don’t get how the newspaper even ended up under our mat,” Beric said abruptly and a little sulkily. “We barely even know our neighbors.”

“Er right,” Thoros scratched his head sheepishly. “I might have hid it there.”

“You bought up a copy?” Beric groaned. “Why, to torment me?”

“Um I might have bought a lot of copies? To keep you from seeing them because I knew you would be upset?”

Beric stared at him. Thoros took a defensive sip of hot chocolate.

“How many copies?” Beric asked finally.

“A hundred and eighty three?” Thoros winced.

There was a pause and then Beric gave a snort of laughter.

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! You know the moment I got to class somebody would have said something right?”

“Well saying something is different from seeing it!” Thoros protested.

“Right, they would have said something and then I would have gone to the website...” Beric picked up his phone from where it was charging and typed in an address. The picture immediately popped up. “And we would be at the exact same place.”

“Well I didn’t think that far ahead!” Thoros huffed.

“I know,” Beric kissed him, tasting of maple syrup. “And you have terrible instincts.”

“What?” Thoros finally registered what Beric was saying because he’d been distracted by the kiss. “I have great instincts!”

“If our apartment caught on fire, you would freak out and pour gasoline on the flames,” Beric laughed.

“I would not!”

“It’s okay, I think it’s adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” Thoros protested. 

“Sweet then.”

“I’m not sweet either!”

“You just don’t want people knowing that you’re nice. That’s different.”

“I stole two packets of gum today,” Thoros crossed his arms. “Not sweet.”

Beric kissed him again.

“Objectively false. Very sweet.”

“That’s the maple syrup!”

Beric smiled, and it seemed like they were in the clear.

“That was a composite photo you know,” Beric said.

“Hmmm?”

“I wasn’t really looking at Robert when they took that, you had just come out from the back kitchen.”

“Well I’m glad you weren’t looking at Robert,” Thoros joked to distract from his blush. “I’d have to beat him up.”

Beric rolled his eye.

“You don’t think I could?!” Thoros poked him playfully. 

“I don’t think you could and I don’t think you WOULD.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“That you can’t stay mad at Robert. It’s okay, it’s hard for me too. It’s like some kind of weird conversational jujitsu he does.”

“I can stay mad at Robert! In fact, I AM mad at Robert. He needs to get his woman under control! I don’t have the money to keep buying every issue of the Daily Raven!” Thoros downed his hot chocolate and set it down with an emphatic thump.

“Sure,” Beric pushed him.

“I’m serious. I am marching over there as soon as he gets back from practice and giving him a piece of my mind!”

“If you say so,” Beric shrugged. “But that’s not for another six hours.”

“Whatever shall we do in the meantime?” Thoros drawled.

“Um maybe just cuddle?” Beric gently pushed Thoros’ hand away from where it had been wandering. “I’ve still got the world’s most embarrassing picture of me on the front page of a national newspaper.”

Thoros sighed and pulled him into a hug. Maybe not totally in the clear. It occurred to him that he genuinely was rather annoyed with Robert.

Six hours later, Thoros was chewing some gum and reading one of his many editions of the Daily Raven in the third row of the Oldtown Maesters Stadium.

“What up?” A very sweaty Robert vaulted the wall and landed in front of him.

“You’re an asshole!” Thoros snapped, shoving the paper in his face. “How could you let them embarrass Beric like this?!”

“Woah! What the fuck is that picture? We never posed for that! Ha Beric looks like such a dork!” Robert pulled the paper from him and studied it.

Thoros paused, his head of steam a little stymied.

“How did you not know this was going to happen?” He scowled, shoving Robert.

Robert shoved him back and he tripped backwards over the stadium seating, landing hard on his back.

“I swear I didn’t, dude. Cersei doesn’t run this shit by me,” Robert lifted him to his feet.

“Well she’s put him in a shitty situation! You know how much he hates to be the center of attention, and how much he REALLY hates people talking about his scars. He totally skipped class today and you’re a bad friend for letting your baby mama walk all over him!”

“Okay first, he’s an adult who is just as capable or incapable of standing up to Cersei as I am, and second, she is the mother of my child! This shit is so delicate, you have no idea. She could get cold feet at any moment, I swear Jaime is plotting against me, Stannis just sent me a fucking Venmo request for his gas bill to Oldtown and I need to submit my picks for the bands to Cersei by Friday.”

Thoros opened his mouth and then shut it.

“Thoros! I’m stress eating! I think I’m going to get fat!”

“You work out too much to get fat,” Thoros offered.

“You’re supposed to say, don’t be ridiculous, Robert, it’s all going to be fine.”

“No these all sound like real problems. Except that Stannis thing. Just pay him.”

“It means he’s mad at me! If I pay him, we don’t resolve our issues!”

“Your issues are incapable of resolution. Just learn to treat them as a charming facet of your relationship with him and pay the man.”

“Fuck,” Robert groaned, collapsing into one of the seats and burying his head in his hands. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

“I’m sorry buddy,” Thoros leaned over and pat him on the back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Could you pick up Ned from the airport?” Robert looked up hopefully.

“Sure?” Thoros frowned. “When?”

“Friday. It’s the soonest he could come.”

“Why does he need to be here?”

“Evil forces are on the move,” Robert tapped his nose. “We must gather our strength.”

“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” Thoros rolled his eyes. There was no reasoning with him once Robert had gone into conspiracy mode. “Alright, text me the details.”

“Thanks dude. And I’ll tell Cersei to fix this Beric thing. You’ll see, it’ll turn out fine.”

It wasn’t until he got home that he realized Beric might have a point.

“How’d it go?” Beric looked up from a legal textbook. Poor boy didn’t know the first thing about cutting class.

“What go?” Thoros yawned, checking his watch. Only an hour before his shift.

“Telling Robert off?”

“Huh,” Thoros opened his mouth and then shut it. “Really great. He was very sorry. There was some groveling. He’ll never do it again.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Beric told him.

“I’m an excellent liar,” Thoros snorted, poking through his dirty laundry to try and find a work shirt. “I just don’t like lying to you.”

“Then what really happened?” Beric laughed.

“I don’t know exactly,” Thoros scratched his head. “I went over there to yell at him and then all of a sudden I was promising to pick Ned up from the airport.”

“Conversational jujitsu,” Beric nodded wisely.

“Since when could he do that?!”

“He could always do that. Your problem is just you usually don’t need any convincing,” Beric sighed. “Why is Ned coming anyway?! Doesn’t he have a child to take care of?!”

Thoros shrugged.

“Dunno. Robert just said that the forces of evil were on the move.”


	8. Melisandre (Start Again 8 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Update: After this arc, I will be posting on Monday AND Thursday! I have just started Chapter 34, which means I've written a 25 chapter buffer, which is what I had when I started LTW. And a week is a really long time to wait to post, I don't see how all these writers do it!

Melisandre’s face brightened when her phone buzzed with Brienne’s name. She started to reach for it only to be cut off by the disapproving cough of her lab supervisor.

She gave a haughty sniff. As if she cared one whit for lab supervisors and their petty concerns.

“Hi Brienne,” Melisandre said in a hushed voice from the women’s restroom, her voice dropped into a whisper so that nobody would hear her. Petty concerns or not, she really needed this job on her resume to apply for medical school. Most people spent their summers in college collecting this kind of work experience, but then most people hadn’t spent their first two years thinking they wanted to be a Religion Studies major. Unfortunately, there had been a bit of an incident when she had discovered that a class in demonology listed the red book amongst their course materials and well… things had escalated. 

After a mutual parting of ways between herself and the theology department, she realized that she wanted a more practical calling than being a desiccated corpse in an ivory tower who had the unmitigated temerity to lecture his students with his sour breath that R’hllor showed classic overlap with pagan iconography of fire demons. Some might consider his office becoming mysteriously infested with fire ants to be divine justice.

Becoming a doctor meant dedicating your life to helping others. It required self-sacrifice, dedication and brains. In a way, it was kind of a secular religion, and that suited Melisandre’s temperament nicely. But she’d spent her junior summer frantically cramming in course requirements. She needed at least a year, ideally two, to pad her resumé and study for the MCAT. 

Fortunately, the women’s restroom was the perfect place to discreetly take a personal call. There were few female researchers and the walls were soundproof.

“Hi Melisandre,” Brienne was saying warmly. “It’s been too long.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to call you!” Melisandre said, impatient to skip the pleasantries when it came to this particular topic. “I assume we both know why we’re having this conversation.”

“Oh did Thoros say something?”

“No why would he? I just figured it out. I can’t believe this is happening, it’s such a nightmare!”

“Oh,” Brienne cleared her throat uncomfortably. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked, it’s such an imposition. You don’t need to help—“

“Of course I need to help! I can’t leave you to deal with this on your own! We both remember the last time, they’ll get themselves killed!”

“Errr, last time? What are we talking about?”

“That our nincompoop boyfriends think they’re going to stop this wedding?” Melisandre prodded impatiently. She’d seen that dreadful Daily Raven cover, and had picked up a phone to call Thoros to warn him that he should probably burn down the newsstand by his apartment before Beric saw it, only to hear Stannis talking to Jaime Lannister of all people. 

“Wait, THEY WHAT?!” Brienne snapped. “Jaime specifically told me he was past this!”

“Wait, what were you talking about?”

“Oh, um, Cersei really really needs a fourth bridesmaid and she asked me to find someone.”

“WHAT?!”

“I mean your thing is objectively worse—“

“No it’s not! Brienne, you know how I feel about the wedding industry! It’s a gross capitalist swindle that corrupts both the sanctity of religion and the purity of love!”

“I’m not sure the sanctity of religion or the purity of love will be big selling points at this wedding,” Brienne coughed.

“Well I can’t! As a follower of R’hllor, I am forbidden from participating in other religious ceremonies!”

“Are you just doing that thing you do where you make up facts about your religion because nobody knows enough to correct you?”

“...NO!”

“Well okay, because Thoros is going to be a groomsman—“

“He’s a heretic! I refuse!”

“I really wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency, but I’m desperate! I called every girl in Cersei’s sorority! Do you know how many people hung up on me? And those were the good ones! I got a ‘May that witch burn in hell’, somebody who just sobbed on the line for twenty minutes, another girl who asked me to tell Cersei she still loves her and would do anything for her...”

Melisandre groaned.

“And if Jaime and Stannis really are teaming up to stop this wedding, we need to have an excuse for us to be hanging out as well! If we don’t run interference, I don’t even want to know what Tywin will do when he catches up to them!”

Melisandre groaned again.

“Please Melisandre? I know you hate all this crap, but I’m at the end of my rope and I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“Catelyn Tully.”

“Already a bridesmaid. And so is Lysa.”

“Ellaria Sand.”

“She said she would consider it if I flew down to Dorne and... persuaded her.”

Melisandre had to snort at that, imagining Brienne’s blush on the other side of the phone. Honestly, she was as bad as Beric.

“I’ll think about it,” Melisandre sighed.

“Could you think about it really fast?” Brienne said nervously. Melisandre’s phone buzzed with another text.

“Why?” Melisandre said suspiciously.

“Um because I might have already told Cersei you would do it and we’re going to be in King’s Landing this evening for a dress fitting?”

“What?!” Melisandre’s voice dipped into permafrost territory.

“Surprise?” Brienne squeaked.

“There’d better be champagne,” Melisandre growled. 

She hung up. The buzz had been an invitation from Cersei to her wedding calendar. With a feeling of doom, Melisandre clicked accept. She really REALLY hated weddings.

There was not champagne. It was sparkling apple cider, which was not the same thing at all, but Cersei had given a delicate bell-like laugh and said she didn’t want to tempt herself with the biscuit around and it really tasted about the same. It did not.

“I didn’t even realize bridal boutiques stayed open this late,” Melisandre confided to Brienne.

“They don’t. They made an exception for Cersei because she’s custom designing her gown with them.”

“Shouldn’t Catelyn and Lysa be here?” Melisandre looked around, trying not to gag at all of the frills and tulle.

“Catelyn said that Robb has a cough and her family is coming to visit any day now and there’s no way she can fly down to King’s Landing just to try on a dress. And Cersei told me not to bother inviting Lysa because she’ll do as she’s told and like it.”

Melisandre eyed the dresses dubiously. 

“It’s all set,” Cersei said briskly. “I’ve instructed them to bring out every shade of pink they have.”

Melisandre stared at her.

“Er pink, Cersei?” Brienne asked hesitantly. “Three of your four bridesmaids are redheads and two of Robert’s groomsmen... you don’t think—“

“Oh it’ll clash hideously,” Cersei agreed blithely. “Which is perfect, I really want to accentuate the difference in attractiveness between everyone else and me. I’m thinking pink flowers as well, just to make sure you all blend into the background in photos. Don’t look so glum! At least it’ll bring out the roses in your cheeks. Yours too Melisandre. You both have skin that’s so...”

“Alabaster?” Melisandre offered with a shade of snark.

“Corpse-like,” Cersei continued. “Excuse me miss? I’ve narrowed it down to these seven shades.”

“But,” Brienne shot a nervous look at Melisandre. Melisandre only shrugged indifferently. She had spent a lifetime wearing various shades of red and was used to things clashing with her hair. Plus she refused to involve herself in this enterprise more than she absolutely had to. But if Cersei thought she was wearing anything with frills, she had another thing coming. Difference in attractiveness? Melisandre was fairly deft with a needle. They would see who would be blending into the background.

“Of course you’ll have to wear flats. Melisandre stand up for a second?”

Melisandre stood.

“I’m wearing three inch, so nothing higher than one inch for you, dear.”

She made a mental note to wear the tallest heels she could find.

“Excuse me, Susayn, was it? I’m think a mermaid dress with lots of frills. Oh and plenty of tulle at the bottom. What do you have like that?”

Melisandre shot a look at Brienne, who had the decency to blush.

The situation did not approve once the dresses arrived. Cersei insisted Melisandre try on them all, claiming that Brienne’s figure was much too unique for her to visualize what the others would look like wearing off the rack. 

Melisandre stood, chin lifted haughtily, in one monstrous pink confection after another, as Cersei prowled around her, determined to find ways to make the dress ever more awful.

It was nearly ten o’clock at night before they were done, and both Melisandre and Brienne’s stomachs were growling loudly.

“Time for a slice before you head back to Oldtown?” Melisandre asked Brienne, pointedly ignoring Cersei.

“Pizza? Heavens, you must work out a lot,” Cersei smiled, putting her hand on Brienne’s arm. “Better to skip dinner tonight I think, there’s so much sugar in apple cider as it is.”

Brienne looked like a childhood friend had died.

“Well if you change your mind about anything,” Melisandre arched an eyebrow to encompass every terrible life decision that had led Brienne to this point, “do let me know.”

Brienne swallowed. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” she said weakly.

“See, she’s fine,” Cersei cooed. Melisandre considered whether Stannis and Jaime weren’t on to something.

“You were out late,” Stannis eyed her as she let herself into their flat. It was just where Stormlands gave way to downtown King’s Landing, which let Stannis drop in on Renly when his parents had been away for exceptionally long periods. The style was sleek modern, all clean lines and tasteful minimalism. It was all very Stannis, except for the artwork which was all very her. Poor dear didn’t really understand that you couldn’t have too much red.

“It was ghastly,” Melisandre said tiredly, balancing a large pizza box, of which she’d already managed to devour half. “What’s up with you?”

“Robert hasn’t responded to my Venmo request,” Stannis huffed, helping her with her jacket and then taking the box from her so she could collapse dramatically across the sofa. She did, and then watched fondly as he carefully put the pizza down and then hung her jacket on their rack just so. She reminded herself that she really should be annoyed with him—after the whole Robert’s Rebellion debacle, he had PROMISED her no more secrets—but it was hard to be annoyed as he rehung the jacket when it didn’t fall exactly right.

“Oh leave it,” Melisandre as he prepared to give it a third go. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s not,” Stannis scowled at the jacket.

“You’re perfect then,” Melisandre stretched out on the couch. Surely he deserved a chance to come clean. “Speaking of Robert, anything you want to tell me?”

“I know you said not to send the Venmo request, but it’s the principle of the thing! He always says these things even out, but you know what the best way to even them out is? To split it! And it’s just typical of him anyway. He expects that I’ll drop everything and run to help him clean up his messes! I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, I can’t just fuck off to bail my brother out of whatever disaster he’s created! And now I’ve got Cersei breathing down my neck to sign off on this trust agreement for that stupid charity she’s creating, and I need a speech for the shareholder’s presentation on Friday and I’m not remotely close to prepared, and...”

Melisandre stuck a piece of pizza in his mouth. Stannis glared at her as he chewed mechanically and then gulped.

“Anything else,” she toyed with the collar of his dress shirt, unbuttoning the top button. 

“That seems like a lot,” he said doubtfully, distracted by her hands which were continue to unbutton.

“I just thought,” Melisandre breathed against his ear, her lips brushing the shell. Stannis shivered and she pressed a kiss against his neck. “That there might be...” she began to unbuckle his belt, “... something new.”

“Nothing new,” Stannis managed, his hands falling to her hips. She pushed him off playfully, even as she slipped the belt out of his pants and tossed it on the couch.

“You’re sure?” She asked coyly, sliding the pants off him. They hit the ground in a puddle. Stannis was staring at her hungrily.

“Well?” She pushed him lightly back into an arm chair and then stood over him, starting to take off her own top.

“Well what?” Stannis asked, voice dazed. She dropped the top, leaned forward. Automatically he reached to unclasp her bra and again she pushed him off.

“Nothing you want to tell me?” She purred.

“Nothing,” Stannis rasped.

Melisandre blinked. She pushed herself back upright and retrieved her top. 

“Mel?” Stannis looked bewildered. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to watch television and then I’m going to bed,” Melisandre said. 

“Um, did I do something?”

“Apparently nothing at all,” Melisandre snarked.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Don’t be silly. How could I be mad at you when you’ve done nothing?” She grabbed the pizza box.

“Wait!” Stannis called, as she opened the door of their bedroom. She smiled. She knew he was perfect. Carefully wiping her facial expression to neutral, she turned back to him.

“Can I have another slice of pizza?”

The entire apartment reverberated with the force of the door slam.


	9. Ned (Start Again 9 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise new main character! Davos has been demoted post-LTW since he's off in King's Landing being a responsible adult. Remember to tune in Thursday for the next chapter!

It had been a long night, punctuated by Robb’s hacking cough, and when his one year old son woke up at day break, Ned had the peculiar sensation that he had never actually fallen asleep. He was across the room to the crib before Catelyn had fully woken, lifting Robb into his arms. 

“There there little man,” Ned whispered, and Rob gurgled at him, the soft morning light catching the blue of Robb’s eyes. Catelyn’s eyes, and Ned had to give him a quick kiss on the forehead because it was constantly hitting him all over again, how much he loved his son.

Robb was one now, had followed almost nine months to the day after his and Catelyn’s marriage. And every day he became a little more of a person, a little closer to walking and talking, a little closer to growing up. Ned kissed him again, and then wandered into the kitchen with him to heat up some formula. Catelyn had planned to breast feed until about eighteen months, but was not so secretly hoping that Robb would lose interest sooner. To that end, they were mixing in formula, especially in the morning and at night, and Catelyn deserved to savor her sleep a little longer.

Ned glanced briefly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced. His brownish-red hair was rumpled and he badly needed a shave. There were dark circles under his eyes like bruises. Abruptly, he turned to go back to the kitchenette and managed to bonk Robb’s head on the door. Robb immediately started to wail.

“I’m sorry!” Ned rubbed his head. “Daddy didn’t mean it, Daddy’s sorry.” Inwardly he cursed this awful graduate student housing for making such tiny spaces and having no conception of what family living entailed. Both he and Cat were graduate students at Winterfell—Cat in Medieval Literature and Ned in Westerosi History—and trying to study and grade papers and write their theses and raise a child in an oversized closet was driving them both slightly mad.

If that didn’t make things worse, Catelyn’s entire family was coming this weekend as a prelude to the annual two-week Tully family summer holiday. He didn’t know where they were all going to fit. He tested the temperature of the formula and then put it into the sippy cup for Robb. Robb stopped crying and began working at it with greedy sips.

Honestly, Robert’s invitation/command/desperate cry for help couldn’t have come at a better time. If they blew up an air mattress in the nursery, Catelyn and Lysa could sleep there. Edmure could sleep on the couch. Hoster could sleep in the master bedroom. Plus that got him out of the dorm. It was no secret that Hoster was deeply disappointed in Cat’s marriage. He had always liked Ned’s brother Brandon better, and had been convinced that their relationship was just puppy love that would run its course. When it hadn’t—when Ned had proposed their senior year, and Cat, crying and laughing through her tears had said yes—Hoster Tully had been furious. Ned didn’t have the ambition of his older brother, the earning potential, the connections. If Cat married him, she would just be some professor’s wife. Cat knew that of course. She just didn’t care.

Ned knew that Cat felt the estrangement with her family keenly. This visit, ostensibly to see little Robb and for Catelyn and Robb to join them on the Tully family vacation, was their chance at reconciliation, a chance at putting the past behind them. Ned knew that Cat hoped her father would thaw in Robb’s presence, would be so pleased with his grandson that he might unbend over her less than strategic marriage. Ned also knew that his presence was a hindrance in that effort.

Robb was already asleep again in his arms when Ned made his way back to the master bedroom and put him in his daybed. He climbed back into bed, pausing to brush the hair out of his sleeping wife’s face. Softly illuminated in the morning light, Catelyn Tully was as beautiful as the day he’d married her.

“Mmm,” she shifted in the bed, rolling toward him. “Is it time to get up already?”

“I think we have a minute or two longer,” Ned whispered, his voice rough with sleep still.

When he had tentatively brought up Robert’s request that he visit as soon as possible, Catelyn had been more than supportive. She would never deliberately hide him from her father, but if he happened to be gone while Hoster happened to be there... Ned wasn’t sure who would be more relieved, himself, Cat or Hoster.

Not to mention, he had been feeling rather guilty that he wasn’t there to celebrate with Robert. He could still remember Robert’s delight when they had told him about Robb—he’d been playing for Sunspear then and had driven all the way up to take Ned and Cat out to celebrate at Moondoor, driving through the night to surprise them in the Vale the very next day. Now it had been ten days, ten days since his best friend had found out he was going to be a father AND gotten engaged—and Ned was still watching his wife sleep and wondering if he shouldn’t just stay here and squeeze in three last days with his family, Hoster be damned.

As if sensing his thoughts, little Robb started to cry again, this time punctuated by the cough that Ned had grown to dread.

“Well it was nice while it lasted,” Cat yawned, and rolled out of bed to collect him.

“Mmm,” Ned said noncommittally.

“What are you thinking about so hard this early in the morning,” Cat teased as she brought Robb back to their bed and cuddled against Ned’s shoulder.

“Robert’s wedding. And flying to Oldtown, I guess,” Ned admitted. “Are you sure you won’t need me here?”

Catelyn rolled her eyes.

“You know Lysa is obsessed with babies. She’ll take care of Robb the entire time, I’ll be lucky if I even get to see him. And with Daddy and Edmure... I’m not so sure your presence will be much of a help,” she smiled wanly.

“I never meant to take you from your family,” Ned frowned, taking her hand.

“You haven’t,” Catelyn squeezed back. “As you can see, they are very much still in the picture. I haven’t regretted our marriage for a moment, and Daddy can accept that fact or not. I just hate how much stress it’s put on you, when you’ve done nothing but love me. Knowing that you’re off in Oldtown goofing around with Robert instead of listening to my father’s snide comments about you and Brandon makes me happy. Promise me you’ll have fun Ned? I want to think about you having fun while I’m on this horrendous family vacation.”

“I’ll try,” Ned said doubtfully. It would be his first nights apart from Cat and Robb since Robb had been born.

Catelyn put a hand on her hip.

“Do better than try,” she scolded. “Don’t make me take Cersei up on her offer to relocate all of us to the Citadel.”

Ned winced at the mention of Robert’s on and off again girlfriend turned baby mama turned fiancée.

“I promise,” he sighed, a doleful sound completely at odds with the sentiment expressed.

“Such enthusiasm,” Catelyn had to laugh. “Well who knows, maybe some fun will sneak up on you.”

And for an afternoon it seemed like Catelyn Tully Stark had been right. He got off the plane to a markedly warmer climate, a sunny afternoon and a high school friend leaning against a beat up sedan.

“Did Robert make you pick me up?” Ned groaned. “I’m so sorry, I could have totally gotten a taxi.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t send flowers and a mariachi band,” Thoros Asshai laughed.

Ned had only gotten to know him senior year of high school through Robert (he had an anti-authoritarian streak that made Ned a little nervous sometimes and meant the two of them would have been unlikely to really bond one on one) but he was easy going and good natured, and after working for two years with exclusively high strung academic types, it was nice to talk sports and commiserate about Cersei’s crazy plans to get publicity for the wedding and hear about Robert’s latest misadventures.

By the time Thoros dropped Ned off at Robert’s apartment, with the assurance that Robert should be home from practice within an hour or two, Ned was feeling almost relaxed. He had time to get unpacked, take a shower, call Cat... the elevator whooshed open and there was Jaime Lannister, looking up in surprise.

Ned froze. Jaime’s surprise melted from bewilderment to scorn with a heaping side of malice in the shade of an instant.

“I should have known you would eventually turn up. I don’t suppose you’re here to confess your undying love for Robert and beg him to call off the wedding?” Jaime arched an eyebrow. Ned was at a loss for words, but a response did not really seem to be required.

“Pity, that would have made my life easier. Well Robert’s bed is over there. I assume you’d prefer sleeping with him over a murderer,” Jaime said lightly, before walking past, his shoulder hitting Ned’s in the process. Then the elevator doors whooshed closed again, and Ned dropped his bags really wishing he’d stayed up north with Cat.

The worst part about it was that Ned had nobody to blame but himself. He and Jaime Lannister had never gotten along particularly well—he found Jaime to be rude and sarcastic, and he suspected that Jaime found him annoying and dull. But they had more or less co-existed without incident until the end of senior year, when the mayor had gone mad and tried to burn the city down.

Ned had helped though! He and Robert had corralled the police and gotten them to the mayor’s house where he had taken Jaime hostage. And when they finally broke the door down, Ned had only said the first thing that popped into his head—“you shot him in the back”—okay was it kind or tactful, no, but it was a factually accurate description of the scene, he was a high schooler looking at a dead body, what exactly was the right thing to say?! And then the police body cam video had leaked and Ned’s accusation had become immortalized as incontrovertible fact and Jaime had never forgiven him.

Ned groaned and slumped on Robert’s bed. And now Jaime Lannister was going to be Robert’s brother-in-law. They were literally sleeping under the same roof! Jaime hated him and Ned was a terrible person and Robert was going to be so disappointed that they couldn’t get along and absolutely everything was a complete disaster.

“Everything is going exactly according to plan!” Robert beamed in the car on the way to dinner.

“Wait what?” Ned blinked. “Jaime looked like he was about to murder me! I mean, not that I actually think he does that, of course, except for that one time and I’m sure it was self-defense but...” Ned realized he was babbling and shut his mouth. Fuck, see, this was why he shouldn’t be accountable for things he said when he was nervous! 

“I know!” Robert gave him a one armed hug and the car swerved. Ned shut his eyes as they narrowly missed oncoming traffic.

“Jaime’s trying to sabotage the wedding. Or he will. Or he might. He’s plotting something Ned, I know he is,” Robert told him.

“Robert, we’ve talked about you reading comic books before bed time,” Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. “And how the entire world doesn’t actually run on vast conspiracy theories?!“

“Except for that time that Rhaegar was murdered by his father and then it was covered up as a political assassination gone wrong? And that other time that Aerys tried to destroy the city with wildfire?” 

“Yes except for those two times which were actually one time because they were connected,” Ned sighed.

“And I totally called it and nobody believed me?!” 

“Actually you managed to convince like a weirdly high number of people. All things considering.”

“Whatever! The point is that this isn’t a conspiracy because Jaime told me to my face!” Robert huffed.

Ned massaged his temples.

“What did he say exactly?”

“You’re not good enough for my sister, you’ll never be good enough for my sister and this wedding is happening over my dead body.”

Okay, well that was a little difficult to misconstrue.

“And I can’t have anything go wrong! Cersei said if I did anything to fuck with her Vogue coverage she would call off the wedding!” Robert groaned as they sat down at the table for dinner and buried his head in his arms.

“Hey it’s going to be okay,” Ned frantically summoned the waiter. “Everything will look better once we’ve had a couple beers, you’ll see.”

“Maybe,” Ned said thoughtfully on his fourth beer and their third bar, “maybe he means he has a terminal health condition and won’t survive until the wedding.”

Robert groaned.

“If only. Appreciate the positive thinking Neddy.”

“Well, can’t you just tell Cersei? Make her work her Cersei magic?”

“Okay, I thought about this one. But who would you say Cersei cares about more, me or Jaime?”

“Ummmm, well it’s different right, she cares about you in different—“

“You don’t know! And I don’t know! I don’t think Cersei knows! If I tell her that Jaime’s plotting to ruin the wedding, I’m making her choose between him and me. And I can’t do that unless I know how she’s going to pick me! No, I have to handle this myself.”

Ned blinked at the beer in his hand. Was it just him, or was Robert making sense?

“So just kick his ass or something,” Ned offered.

“That’s an even worse idea! He’ll go running to Cersei and I’ll look like the bad guy!”

“Couldn’t you just um…” Ned racked his brain.

“Look I know a guy and let’s just say all options are on the table. But that’s really a last resort,” Robert tapped his nose. “Like a fail safe plan.”

“I didn’t mean KILL him!” Ned blurted, alarmed. 

“Not KILL,” Robert rolled his eyes. “Disappear. Temporarily. Until after the wedding.”

Ned eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s just a fail-safe plan! It will definitely probably maybe not be necessary. And how long’s it been since you were out drinking anyway?”

“Umm before Robb was born. And then we were so busy with classes... maybe the wedding?”

“Hmmm,” Robert yoinked the beer from him and drained it himself. “Maybe we should let me do the thinking.”

Ned blinked at his now empty hand.

“Okay,” he said amiably, giving it up as a lost cause. Disappearing was probably fine. As long as it was temporary. “What do you want me to do?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Robert grinned. “Almost nothing. I just want you to stick to Lannister like glue. It’s perfect! He hates your guts! He’ll be so freaked out that he won’t be able to focus at all!”

“I don’t want him to hate me,” Ned protested plaintively, taken aback at this new plan. “I really think if we could spend some time together he would understand how sorry I am about what happened.”

“That’s the spirit!” Robert clapped him on the back.

It was that thought that kept Ned cheerful through his fifth and sixth beer and the taxi home. When the doors whooshed open at three in the morning and they staggered back into Robert’s apartment, Ned was even inspired to wander over to the guest bed.

“Jaime,” he whispered loudly. The lump under the covers twitched. Ned sat down heavily on the bed next to him and prodded him a couple times.

“Jaime, I want you to know—“ he hiccuped, “how awful I feel about what I said that day with Aerys—“ this one was more of a burp, “I’ve never doubted that it was self defense, I’m sorry it seemed like I didn’t, I—“ woah like a really BIG burp, “I just think we should start over you know? Like a blank—“

His entire stomach rebelled and he threw up the contents of his dinner on to Jaime’s bed.


	10. Jaime (What Have You Done 1 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next arc! In this story, all of the arc names are lyrics from White Wedding by Billy Idol. Mostly because it was fun to listen to the song on a loop and try to decide what words best fit each arc. I think they work surprisingly well?

The first day Jaime kept him at bay through his normal mixture of sarcasm and superiority. Batting down Ned Stark’s pathetic attempts at ingratiation was almost satisfying. He deserved it, really, and Jaime almost laughed when after trudging behind him through half the city, Jaime hailed a taxi and jumped in, slamming the car door shut in Ned’s face. Only for Ned to show up at Cersei’s, tired and dirty, two hours later and right as Jaime was in the middle of inquiring whether Cersei had ever noticed that Robert talked with his mouth full. 

“I thought you were going to help Jaime childproof the kitchen?” Cersei eyed Ned’s disheveled appearance disdainfully.

“I missed the cab,” Ned ground out, “and had to walk. I didn’t know the area and I got lost several times.”

Good riddance.

The second day, it was just annoying. Ned always got up to talk to Robert in the painfully early morning before Robert departed for practice, which doubled the volume of noises that Jaime had to sleep through. Even being mean to him wasn’t as fun as it had been the day before, when Ned just stoically endured it as he had yesterday.

Plus Jaime couldn’t get a moment alone with Cersei. Ned just kept popping up with a dumb question or a corny joke. It was driving Jaime mad.

“I can’t concentrate with his stupid horse face jumping out at me at every corner,” Jaime hissed on the phone to Stannis. “I made a perfectly good list of all the disgusting things that Robert does while eating and I’ve barely gotten through a third of them.”

“Did you include the fact that he double dips?”

“Everyone double dips, Stannis,” Jaime rolled his eyes. There was a distinct hiss on the line.

“It’s so unlucky! Of all the times for Ned Stark to get a crisis of conscience, why did it have to be now?!” Jaime warmed to his theme.

“It’s not unlucky. Robert’s fucking with you and he’s winning. Get your head in the game.”

Jaime made a doubtful noise. Like that sod was capable of psychological warfare.

“I think it’s just Ned. He’s really weird and irritating. I don’t see how Robert stands having him around.”

“You underestimate him,” Stannis growled.

“Ned? Maybe. Weird, irritating, pretentious, so fucking earnest, dull, mindlessly loyal—“

“Not Ned,” Stannis sounded exasperated. “Robert.”

Jaime blinked. He had seen Robert get stuck in a revolving door once.

“Look, you have to understand that he’s a person of slightly below average intelligence who has realized his life will be much easier if everyone thinks he’s a moron.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jaime scoffed. “Why would anyone ever do that?”

“Because he’s very lazy. And I suspect he finds it funny.”

“Well have you ever considered maybe he’s just really stupid?”

“I did live with him for eighteen years!”

That was a good point. Stannis was also weird and irritating. Probably Robert had just built up a tolerance.

“Look it’s fine to be related to someone stupid. My cousin Lancel makes Robert look sharp. My point is that Ned is driving me mad and I’ve made no progress on planting seeds of doubt in Cersei’s mind because everywhere I go, he follows after.”

“Maybe that will work to our advantage,” Stannis said thoughtfully.

“Huh?” Jaime wondered if maybe stupidity didn’t run in the family.

“Look we’ve been attacking the Cersei angle. Maybe there’s a Robert angle. And nobody knows Robert’s secrets like Ned.”

“Why would there be a Robert angle? Of course the big doofus is happy to marry her.”

“Happy to have Tywin Lannister as a father in law?!” Stannis sounded horrified. Jaime considered.

“Ok I’ll ugh... talk to Ned,” he said begrudgingly. With a shiver of distaste he hung up, and stepped out of the closet where the washer and dryer were kept. Since Cersei sent all her clothes to the dry cleaner, he’d discovered this was the one place where he could plot uninterrupted. Unobserved, he could sneak into this room and call Stannis or just jot down random ideas in a solo brainstorming session, as Cersei and Brienne did muscle toning yoga or whatever faddish obsession Cersei had fixated on for the day, nobody ever suspecting that he was working from within to bring down this entire—

“Hi!” Ned gave a forced smile from where he had been waiting outside the closet. “Whatcha doing?”

“None of your business, Stark,” Jaime snapped. Ned flinched but stood his ground. Jaime reminded himself that perhaps this was not the best way to worm out Robert’s secrets. What was the best way? Alcohol. Alcohol was the best way.

“Say, all this baby proofing has made me really thirsty,” Jaime said, shifting gears. 

“Do you want some water?” Ned offered. “Cersei also has some sparkling apple cider in the fridge?”

“No,” Jaime shuddered. “I meant a proper drink.”

“It’s noon,” Ned blinked.

“So are you coming or not?” Jaime raised an eyebrow. Ned’s shoulders fell.

“Just let me grab my wallet.”

Ned drunk was not an improvement on Ned sober. It had been easy to get him drunk because Jaime had told him he didn’t like the first beer he had ordered and could Ned finish it so he could order a new one. And then he did it again on the third beer. And then he suggested shots and Ned was too tipsy to notice that Jaime was dumping his over his shoulder when he took them.

But now that Ned was drunk, Jaime was discovering that he was a really REALLY affectionate drunk.

“Stark, people are staring,” Jaime said through gritted teeth as they staggered into the sunlight from the dark cave of the bar.

“At what?” Ned hiccuped, his chin resting on Jaime’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around him.

“At you! Let me go!” Jaime tried to use his words. It was like talking to a rock.

“I can’t,” Ned said in a reasonable tone, arms remaining firmly laced around him. “Can you walk slower? It’s very hard to walk like this without tripping.”

“You don’t say,” Jaime growled, aiming them for the water fountain in the center of the traffic circle. Ned could clearly use a nice cold bath. “Remind me why you can’t let go?”

“Because Robert said not to,” Ned said seriously.

What?

“What?” Jaime said trying to keep the slowly growing rage out of his voice.

“Stick to him like glue he said,” Ned nodded, his chin digging into Jaime’s shoulder each time. 

Gods. Stannis was right. Jaime could never tell him, he’d be more insufferable than he was already. But that didn’t mean that Robert was secretly a person of normal intelligence masquerading as a moron. He had just gotten lucky. Per usual.

“What else did Robert say?” Jaime prodded, now that he had the perfect window of inquiry.

“That you were going to try and ruin the wedding,” Ned squeezed him tighter in what Jaime realized with dawning horror was a hug. “But you wouldn’t really do that.”

“Of course not,” Jaime said, trying to get them closer to the fountain.

“That’s good,” Ned continued obliviously. “Because Robert says that Cersei said if anything went wrong with the Vogue coverage, the wedding would be off.”

“He did?” Jaime stopped in his tracks.

“Mmmm hmmm,” Ned stopped. 

Eureka. No more trying to undermine Cersei’s bizarre affection for the idiot Baratheon. No trying to do vice versa for Robert (not that Jaime thought Stannis’ idea had any particular merit). All he had to do was create some kind of disaster that would lose them the Vogue coverage. How hard could that be?

“You know Stark, you’re not so bad,” Jaime said magnanimously, patting the reddish-brown head currently lolling on his right shoulder.

“Does this mean you forgive me for that Aerys thing?” Ned immediately said hopefully.

“What?! No!” Jaime yelped.

“But,” Ned finally let go and turned to face him, eyes wide, face pale and practically radiating injured innocence. “But...”

“Go on, spit it out,” Jaime sneered.

Ned opened his mouth and a stream of bile splashed out, spattering Jaime’s jeans and shoes.

Jaime closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ned was still standing in front of him, miserably guilty. With a howl of rage, Jaime grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over his back into the fountain.

A load of laundry, a shower, and a telephone call later, Jaime reported what he had discovered.

“How do we make sure this wedding doesn’t have Vogue coverage?” Stannis said doubtfully. “I mean does it have Vogue coverage to start with?”

“Not yet,” Jaime admitted. “But it’s only a matter of time. Unless we do something.”

“I don’t see how we take something away from Cersei that she doesn’t already have,” Stannis repeated stubbornly.

Ugh good co-conspirators were so hard to find.

“Take for example the photographer,” Jaime pressed. “There is a shortlist of trusted Vogue wedding photographers, and the odds of getting a spread increase if you’re already using one. This close to the wedding, there’s only one that’s available.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“The famously reclusive Ellyn Tarbeck.”

“Never heard of her,” Stannis said flatly. Jaime kicked the door of his closet in frustration before remembering that this was supposed to be a secret phone call.

“You’ve never heard of the Tarbecks?! Tarbeck International?! Lannister Corp. destroyed the company, picked it up in a hostile takeover and sold the pieces off for scraps. Walderan Tarbeck, the CEO, committed suicide? Ellyn Tarbeck went on the news and said my father as good as murdered him? Like it was thirty years ago but it’s super famous?”

“Were they a shipping company?”

“Uh no, mining.”

“And this happened before I was born?”

Jaime growled.

“My father’s about to become your sort of father-in-law, you’d think you’d have done some research.”

“But he’s not. At least not if we’re successful. If it makes you happy, I will dedicate an hour to the subject of the Tarbecks after work today.”

“No it’s just, it’s general knowledge okay?! And Cersei certainly knows it. That’s why she asked Robert to ask her. Because Ellyn Tarbeck is a crazy recluse who doesn’t read the papers and won’t know that Robert is marrying a Lannister. So he might, just maybe, have a shot at hiring her.”

“Okay?” Stannis asked uncertainly.

“And that’s why you need to create a distraction for Robert tomorrow, the day he’s supposed to be driving up to Tarbeck Hall to ask her. I’ll offer to go, and the moment I introduce myself to Ellyn Tarbeck as the bride’s brother, it’ll be game over,” Jaime explained. “They’ll have to go with a non-Vogue photographer, Cersei will be furious at Robert for delegating something he said he’d do himself, and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.”

“Your plan may have some merit,” Stannis conceded. Was it the accolades that he deserved? No, but he would work with what he got.

Jaime left the closet with a jaunty spring in his step. After days of banging his head against the wall, he finally had an evil plan. Who knew evil plans were so hard to come by? He had a newfound grudging respect for Cersei who had always shown a natural aptitude for this sort of thing. And even better, Ned was curled up in Robert’s bed, dead to the world. Jaime had an entire afternoon to himself. What to do, what to do...

A short drive to the Citadel later, he found Brienne in an enormous library, struggling to unchain a book with an antiquated wrought iron key that looked profoundly unsuited for the purpose of being a key let alone being a key to that particular book.

“Need some help,” he grinned.

“Oh!” Brienne looked up startled, and then a smile spread across her face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be child-proofing the apartment with Ned?” She asked, failing to hide the amusement on her face.

“He’s feeling under the weather,” Jaime said lightly, taking a seat across from her and resting his chin on his hands. “So how’s this library gig treating you?”

“Oh Jaime, it’s absolutely brilliant!” Brienne gushed, her face lighting up even further. “Archmaester Marwyn actually knows a surprising amount about the First Men and the Long Night. I’m learning so much! It’s given me a wonderful idea for my thesis this fall—I can’t wait to get started.”

Jaime eyed the dusty leather tomes around her skeptically. He couldn’t imagine finding anything of interest between these pages. But if Brienne liked it, he could make himself take an interest. He reached for a book.

“No touching!” Brienne slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t you want me to get an education?” Jaime pouted, shaking his hand out as if she’d hurt him.

“Not with these books, it’ll be my head if anything happens to them,” Brienne eyed the book he’d reached for with some concern, as if his mere presence might have damaged it.

“So I’m not allowed to touch anything old,” Jaime furrowed his brow in pretense of thought.

“Please don’t,” Brienne turned back to the sticky key, frowning slightly she tried to gently jimmy the lock mechanism. She didn’t even look up as he stood and walked around, although she certainly looked up when she felt his lips on the nape of her neck.

“Jaime!”

“What wench,” he teased, nuzzling her and letting a hand drift down to the top button of her shirt. “I’m not touching anything old. I just want a proper education,” his hand popped the button and moved down to the next.

“Jaime! You certainly don’t need any more education in... that area,” Brienne leaned away from him but made no effort to remove his hand. He popped the next button.

“Well a refresher course never hurt. Perhaps I could brush up on a few skills,” he kissed her collarbone.

“I don’t think—“ Brienne’s breath caught as he sucked her collarbone.

“That’s right wench, don’t think,” Jaime pulled her chair around so he could kiss her properly, cupping her chin in both hands. 

“I don’t think the reading room is the place for this,” Brienne managed to push him away after a minute. Jaime groaned, but obediently started to rebuttoning her blouse which he’d managed to get half off. She caught his hand.

“No, I meant there’s a bathroom downstairs in the stacks. Give me a two minute head start and knock twice,” her blue gaze met his own evenly. Jaime felt weak at the knees.

“I knew there was something you could teach me,” he managed.

Brienne’s answering smirk was all the reply he needed.


	11. Ned (What Have You Done 2 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that the first chapter of this arc was posted Thursday, so if you're still on the Mondays-only schedule, you have some catching up to do!

Ned had been dreaming that he’d been sleeping entangled with Catelyn, back in their cozy Winterfell apartment, safely removed from the rest of the world, when the alarm went off. He opened his eyes to discover that he was in fact sleeping entangled with Robert, who let out a completely undisturbed snore in his face.

“I swear if that alarm goes off one more time, I’m going to push you out a window Baratheon!”

And the rest of the world was very much not removed, Ned winced, scrambling over a still sleeping Robert to get to the alarm clock. Jaime growled something from the cot across the room and turned over, pillow over his head. His best efforts to repair relations with Robert’s future brother in law notwithstanding (well his best efforts and two quite unfortunate weak stomach incidents), Jaime still loathed him.

The mornings were the best times. Once Robert actually got up, they’d have breakfast together and it felt a bit like when they were roommates back in Aerie, and Robert would tell him his football stories and rib him about not having enough fun.

“What’s up with Cat?” Robert asked as he slopped some smoothie into a bowl for Ned. He added a sprinkle of granola and some banana and shoved it over to Ned.

“She and Robb are doing well,” Ned took a spoonful, to avoid wincing. His Ravyn conversations with Cat would be the best part of the day, only they had been... sparse. The Summer Islands had bad reception, and it seemed like Hoster always had something that demanded Catelyn’s immediate attention whenever they finally did manage to connect. They were going to give it another shot later this morning. 

“What’re your plans for the day?” Ned asked to change the subject.

“I’ll have practice and lifting until three or so. Then Cersei wants me and Beric to film some footage for the foundation she... I mean I am setting up,” Robert scratched his head sheepishly. “She’s rounded up a couple kids to throw the ball around with. She says the commercial’s going to go live tonight. Whaddaya think Neddy, I’ll be on tv!”

“You’re always on tv, Robert,” Ned laughed. “Every Sunday.”

Robert pretended to sulk at his triumphant moment being taken from him and Ned laughed again, and for a moment, he was having fun, as he’d promised his wife. Then Robert looked at the time and realized he was running late and yelped. Ned chuckled ruefully—the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. How many times had he helped Robert find his missing cleat in college? Then, as he found it (under a still-attempting-to-sleep Jaime’s bed), Robert opened the door.

“I’ll see you this evening to watch my spot! Play nice with my wifey and don’t forget to spend some time planning the stag party!”

Ned had been mid-toss of the shoe when that bomb dropped, and his throw went badly wide. Robert, with the reflexes that had probably earned him a living as a professional athlete, managed to catch it anyway.

“The stag party?” Ned repeated in a strangely high-pitched voice.

“Chyeah!! It’s gotta be the best ever! I am the stag king right?! My last hurrah!!!”

“I thought,” Ned cleared his throat, “you were asking one of the other groomsmen...”

Robert snorted.

“You want Stannis to plan my stag party?”

Ned winced at that image.

“I just assumed Thoros...”

“Look I love the guy, but I’m pretty sure he’d be happy camping in the Riverlands. I need five star hotels! I need Michelin Star restaurants! And most of all...”

Ned rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.

“I need women!”

“But Robert...” Ned scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “People don’t tend to think I’m... very fun.”

“That’s nonsense! I think you’re fun!” Robert gave him the same smile that he’d always given him right before persuading him to do something he really shouldn’t. And as always, Ned felt his willpower ebbing away.

“Well if you’re sure you want me to do it,” Ned felt his lips forming the words despite himself.

“Attaboy!” Robert grinned. “And don’t forget...”

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned recited dutifully along with Robert.

The door slammed, and Ned wondered what he’d just done. He wasn’t the party person. Robert was the party person. But of course Robert couldn’t plan his own party. And if he didn’t want Stannis doing it, and he didn’t want Thoros doing it...

Let it never be said that Ned didn’t do his duty.

“Have you ever even thrown a party, Stark?” Jaime asked from the cot where his eyes were still closed.

Ned glared.

“It’ll be fine,” Catelyn said, when the Ravyn call finally went through. She was beaming at him, looking tan and happy, and Ned felt their distance as an almost physical ache.

“Gods know you’ve been to enough of Robert’s parties to know what he likes. You can make the hotel reservations and the restaurants and then just delegate the night clubs to Oberyn Martell,” she continued.

“Delegate?” Ned repeated doubtfully.

“Of course! Who’s going?”

“Robert, me, Stannis, Thoros, Beric, Oberyn and Mace,” Ned recited. Renly and Tyrion were still not of legal drinking age, despite Tyrion’s protestations that he knew a guy who made the most amazing fake IDs.

“So put Oberyn on entertainment, Mace on restaurants and Beric on hotels,” Catelyn shrugged. “Your work is practically done.”

“But what’ll we doing during the day?” Ned fretted. 

“I guess that’ll depend on where you’re going. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know!!!”

“You’ll figure it out,” Cat rolled her eyes, and then the screen jostled and there was a squeal of ‘Da Da!’ and then he could see his son.

“Robb!” He beamed until his cheeks hurt, his heart practically bursting from his rib cage. His boy, his darling boy. This was what was important, the three of them. They’d get through anything together.

“How is he doing? Is he behaving himself? Has the cough gone away yet?” Ned asked, fingers touching the laptop screen where Cat was struggling to get a squirming Robb situated on her lap.

“The cough is gone, and he’s learned a new word! It’s...”

“Catelyn!” A brusque voice interrupted from off screen. The trace of a frown creased Cat’s forehead as she turned.

“Daddy, I’m trying to talk to Ned,” she said. Robb, sensing his mother’s distraction, clambered off her lap and crawled away. Ned’s fingers touching the screen grasped frantically at his vanishing son.

“Our friends the Estermonts just walked in the door. You remember Lomas don’t you? He’s your age and already a city council member! Come talk to him Cat, please,” Hoster Tully said from off screen.

“Daddy—“

“Catelyn!”

Cat gave Ned an apologetic look and he tried to smile back. The screen blinked to black.

Ned sighed.

That day, he accompanied Jaime to Cersei’s. She in turn dispatched them to a superstore with a list of items she still needed for the nursery.

Jaime spent the first hour resolutely not talking to him. Ned resigned himself to his polite ice breakers going ignored, knowing that Jaime Lannister was constitutionally incapable of staying quiet forever. Sure enough, by the time they’d hit the second store to find all the things the first store didn’t have, Jaime had transitioned to casual malice.

“You didn’t talk very long to Cat,” he said, pretending to examine a diaper genie.

“Oh you know,” Ned swallowed. “She’s so busy with her family.”

“They sounded like they were having a great time,” Jaime batted at a mobile, sending it spinning. “So nice of Hoster to try and introduce her to some people her age.”

“Yeah,” Ned looked at the ground.

“Hoster was a little annoyed about your wedding as I recall. I’m glad he’s gotten over that,” Jaime smirked.

As if Hoster Tully has ever gotten over anything.

Mercifully, by the time they got back to Cersei’s, Brienne had returned from her morning at the Citadel. Ned got sent to put together a day bed in the nursery, and tried not to think about Cat and Robb while sitting in a child’s playroom. 

When he was finally released from duty (Brienne had assured him that she would keep an eye on Jaime and Cersei had disappeared to supervise that commercial Robert had been talking about), it was 5:30. Robert wouldn’t be done for another hour or two. Ned felt vaguely at loose ends and more than a little sad. Basically, he could use a drink.

And really, Ned thought, as he walked to High Heart, this was perfect. He could catch Thoros alone and discuss the bachelor party. Everyone was coming later to watch the darn commercial, so he’d already be in the right place, and he could even get some dinner while he waited.

“Why the long face?” Thoros grinned as he collapsed on the bar stool. Ned, aware that he had a long face, rolled his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, that was funny,” Thoros poured him a pint of beer without asking and pushed it over.

“Robert wants me to throw the stag party. I’ve never thrown a stag party!” Ned took a long sip of his drink. If nothing else, his alcohol tolerance would be significantly higher at the end of this summer than at the beginning.

“Me neither,” Thoros shrugged. “What were you thinking?”

“Well the first step is deciding what to do. Any chance you have any ideas?” Ned asked hopefully.

“Um camping is pretty fun and easy to plan,” Thoros started.

“Robert already vetoed it,” Ned sighed. “He said you’d say that. He wants five star hotels.”

“Right,” Thoros grimaced, using a rag to wipe down the counter a patron had just vacated. “Maybe I can sell a kidney on the black market.”

Ned winced. He knew that Thoros couldn’t afford casual trips to Braavos or wherever Robert wanted to go. And that of course Robert would pay for him to go if Thoros asked, and of course Thoros would never ask. There had to be a way around this...

“I think Olenna Tyrell has a summer home in the wine country outside of Highgarden. Maybe we can call Mace and get him to ask her if we can go there for a long weekend,” Ned said slowly.

“Wine country?” Thoros looked up hopefully.

“And it’s Olenna Tyrell. Whatever her summer home is like, you know it’s better than a five star hotel,” Ned continued, gears clicking in his hotel.

“The restaurants in the Reach are supposed to be amazing...”

“We won’t need plane tickets, everyone can drive...”

“Highgarden is supposed to be really scenic...”

“We’ll go wine tasting during the day, maybe even go boating on the Mander one afternoon,” Ned took another deep gulp of his beer and they grinned at each other. This could really work!

“That won’t work,” Mace said flatly, when they Ravyned him from Thoros’ laptop. From off scream there was a howl.

“Loras, no screeching when Daddy’s on the phone!” Mace protested. A glob of food hit him in the face. “And no food fights!”

“Sorry,” Mace winced at the two of them through the screen, “just hold on—“ there was a pause as he wrestled a cherubic toddler into his lap. The cherubic toddler landed a chubby fist in his eye and then blew a raspberry at the screen. Mace gave them a haunted, desperate look. Behind Ned, Thoros was stifling a snicker.

“Daddy can’t go wine tasting because Daddy’s losing his fucking mind,” Mace crooned, bouncing little Loras up and down. “Daddy needs strippers and booze and cocaine. Daddy wants to do a line off a stripper’s ass Ned. Not discuss the Honeywyne burgundies. Please.”

His voice broke on the last note. Ned realized that he had the dark shadows under his eyes of someone whose child was not sleeping through the night.

Thoros was still snickering.

“Don’t laugh you bastard,” Mace hissed. “Alerie knew he was sick and left me with him all week. I’ve put on twenty pounds since we got married. I spend my working hours as a glorified errand boy for my mother. This stag party is the only thing that is keeping me going, I swear.”

His eye had started twitching. Loras began attempting to gnaw at his arm.

“It’s okay Mace, we understand,” Ned began in a pacifying tone.

“Do you? If I have to watch Frozen one more time, I will use this stupid plastic spork to remove my eyeballs, so help me Stranger! Promise me Ned!” Mace gestured at the screen with a happy green spork.

“Frozen?” Loras burbled looking up.

“Oh no,” Mace breathed.

“FROZEN!” Loras screeched. The screen went black.

“So it sounds like a no on wine tasting,” Thoros said glumly.

“Back to the drawing board,” Ned mumbled. Five star hotels for Robert, night clubs for Mace, budget for Thoros. What was he going to do?

“Maybe I should just develop an illness,” Thoros poured a glass of beer for himself as well. “A debilitating illness that prevents me from going.”

“As long as you plan to rent a hospital room for Robert to visit you in,” Ned shrugged.

“What if I said it was a work emergency?”

“Robert would probably hire a bartender to replace you on the weekend in question.”

“Do you think I’m being stupid? It’s just he’s done so much for me already, and I really don’t like the idea of taking his money...”

“It’s not stupid at all. I’m sure we can find some place in Westeros that has nice hotels with good discounts...”

When Robert and Beric joined them an hour later, they had made little progress. It didn’t help that summer was the height of the tourist season. Ned shut Thoros’ laptop guiltily.

“Turn on the television!!” Robert demanded, already grabbing at the remote.

“Relax, it’s not running for another twenty minutes,” Thoros laughed. He turned to Beric. “Ready to be famous?”

“I just want to be left alone,” Beric said dolefully.

“What’ve you been up to?” Robert asked Ned.

“Oh the usual. Um, I talked to Mace today.”

“How is the old windbag?!“

“Um...” Ned was unsure how to describe the nervous sleep-deprived wreck he’d seen. “He’s very excited for your party.”

“Obviously,” Robert smirked. “It’s only going to be the —“

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned, Beric and Thoros recited dutifully in unison.

“Hey! Here it is!” Robert suddenly interjected, turning up the volume.

“Yo, EVERYONE SHUT UP!” He shouted are the rest of the bar, who fell silent.

There was a brief highlight reel of Robert playing football, then a cut to him walking down the Maesters’ field.

“Hi! I’m Robert Baratheon, the quarterback of the Oldtown Maesters. Sports teaches us leadership, teamwork, and drive. But it’s not just for professional athletes. Ask my friend Beric.”

The camera panned out to include Beric, who waved. Thoros wolf whistled.

“Stop it,” the real Beric groaned.

“Shhhh, my boyfriend’s on tv,” Thoros shushed him.

“I played three years of football with Robert, until a motorcycle accident ended my career. I might have lost an eye, but I didn’t lose my love of the game.”

Now the camera panned to a whole group of children adorably doing drills.

“Here at Oldtown, we want everyone to have a good time,” Robert said cheerfully. “Even children with physical limitations.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” a boy with a prosthetic leg tugged at Robert’s sleeve, pointing to a footwork drill.

“No worries, Lommy, let’s work on throwing instead! Hey, Beric, go long!” Robert shouted cheerfully and snapped the ball to the boy. With a cute grin, he slung the pig-skin and Beric caught it, diving dramatically through the air to hit the ground and roll.

“Touchdown!” Robert shouted and high-fived Lommy. Beric came jogging up, a tad mud-spattered.

“So the next time you’re looking to make a donation, I hope you’ll consider Storm’s Ending,” Robert winked at the camera. “Where all children get the chance to be kids.”

The last shot was Lommy waving from Beric’s shoulders, giving a gap-toothed grin as a little jingle played with the number to dial.

“1-877-KAMP4KIDS, donate your cash today!”

The commercial ended.

“AWWWWW,” Thoros ruffled Beric’s hair. “That was adorable!”

“Not bad,” Ned admitted, trying to disguise the fact that he had gotten a little teary eyed. He just missed Robb so much!

“I still don’t see why you need a commercial asking for donations when you’re planning to privately fund the whole thing,” Beric sulked, batting Thoros’ hand away.

“Publicity,” Robert shrugged. “Cersei’s going to run the spot every day until our wedding. It’ll elevate my public profile outside of sports and ensure that everyone who thinks of me thinks of summer camps for kids and not...”

“Public drunkenness,” Thoros offered.

“Assault and battery,” Ned offered.

“Three interceptions in one game,” Beric said under his breath. 

“... other stuff,” Robert finished, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

“Well it’s great. Nice catch, Beric! Back to your old form,” Ned patted his former teammate on the back.

“Where did you get that outfit?” Thoros asked. “Because you looked like... really good.”

“Cersei picked it out. I think the shirt was tailored. I don’t even want to know how she got my measurements,” Beric shook his head.

“Well I thought you looked good,” Thoros repeated slightly dreamily.

“So did I,” a new female voice breathed behind him. They all turned. A pretty if innocent looking high school girl was staring at Beric in fascination.

“Um guys, this is Jenny, the owner’s granddaughter,” Thoros said blinking. “Jenny, this is Ned, Robert, and Beric.”

“You were awesome,” Jenny giggled, still ogling Beric who had begun to blush. She took a step toward him. “Are you like, an athlete?”

“I’m in law school,” Beric took a step back.

“I’m an athlete,” Robert said hopefully. Ned smacked him in the back of the head and Thoros took that as his cue to usher Jenny away from the bar.

“Dondarrion, did you see that?” Robert craned his neck to look at the clearly underage girl’s ass. Ned smacked him again.

“You’re like... a sex symbol now!” Robert continued cheerfully, rubbing the back of his head.

“It was one girl,” Beric mumbled, his face now fully red.

“Says you,” Robert snorted. “Take it from somebody kind of famous, you gotta enjoy it while it lasts. Because the next thing you know, you have ONE BAD GAME...”

“I’m not a sex symbol am I?” Beric shot Ned a panicked look. 

“Of course not,” Ned said soothingly. He looked over his shoulder where another group of girls were giggling and pointing at them. He put his arm around Beric’s shoulders and angled them so their back was to the rest of the bar. “Everything will be better with a good night’s sleep, you’ll see.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, Beric or himself.

At any rate, when he and Robert finally got back to the apartment, it was with a deep sense of relief that he let himself collapse back into the bed. 

It had been a long day, but it was finally, thankfully over. 

Ned wasn’t sure what woke him up, only that he woke with the uneasy sense that there was someone picking their way through the apartment.

A soft rustle.

He squirmed deeper into his blankets. Robert was snoring next to him, he could dimly make out Jaime’s back across the living space.

A floorboard creak. Closer this time.

What if it was a burglar? Worse, what if it was Tywin Lannister?!

Ned felt his heartbeat racing. He could see it now, a shadowy figure approaching the bed.

“Who’s there?!” Ned demanded, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. If it was a burglar he’d wake up Robert. If it was Tywin Lannister, he’d wake up Jaime.

“Oh good, I thought I’d find you here,” said a smooth slightly over-confident voice that Ned knew and struggled to place for a moment.

“...Oberyn?!” 

The shadow sat down on the bed.

“The man, the myth, the legend,” it said cheerfully.

Ned laughed, partly in relief and partly in disbelief.

“What are you doing here, Martell?!” 

“Scoot over, you’re hogging the bed,” Oberyn kicked off his shoes and proceeded to slide under the covers with them. Ned was mildly relieved that Jaime was still asleep. He got enough jokes about him and Robert.

“There, you’re comfy, now answer the question,” Ned prodded.

“If you must know, I was visiting my eldest, Obara. Her mother is an escort here in Oldtown.”

Ned sighed. Oberyn had always lived a little faster than the rest of them, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he already had two daughters. Obara and... Nymeria. That was it.

“Do you always break in to Robert’s flat for a quick snuggle when you’re in Oldtown?” Ned snarked.

“Maybe I’m here to see you, Stark,” Oberyn smirked.

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually. At the behest of a mutual friend who called me in deep distress during a break in the Frozen marathon.”

Ned sighed.

“Look, I told Mace I’d do my best. And I will, I’ll find something.”

“See this is why you should be nice to me,” Oberyn flashed his perfectly white teeth and even in the dark Ned could see his sharp smile. “I’ve found a solution to your problem. Well, rather Mace and Thoros’ problem. It was for Thoros that you suggested a free summer house right?”

“I’m not made of dragons either,” Ned protested. Understatement of the century. He didn’t know what he and Cat would be doing without his father’s help.

“But your family is,” Oberyn stretched languidly. “Anyway, you think too small.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why settle for a summer home, when you could settle for a summer palace?”

Ned blinked.

“You mean...”

“I called my brother Doran. He said it’s fine. We are all cordially invited to the Water Gardens in Sunspear.”

Ned’s brain clicked frantically. Sunspear, in Dorne. In a friggin’ palace. Dorne with its famously beautiful women, its incredible cuisine, its reasonably accessible location...

“Thank you Oberyn... that’s amazing,” Ned stammered out. “I owe you one, seriously.”

“Great,” Oberyn yawned. “Then scoot over more. I’m going to crash here.”

“Wait, what?” Ned blurted.

“Had a fight with Obara’s mother. Took Mace’s call while we were... engaged,” Oberyn gave another slightly feral smile.

“You’re as bad as Robert,” Ned huffed, but he obediently scooted over further.

“I’m worse,” Oberyn said smugly. 

Ned rolled his eyes and reminded himself to kick him out before Jaime woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't immediately experience the jingle from Robert's song indelibly seared upon your soul, feel free to google 1-877-KARS4KIDS. (That might be a reference to a commercial from a very specific time and place but it still haunts my dreams.)


	12. Brienne (What Have You Done 3 of 8)

Brienne tried to ignore her growling stomach as she gently blew the dust off a tomb that Archmaester Marwyn had sent her to fetch. She felt the normal tickle of incredulity as she thought about him. She was working for Archmaester Marwyn! In the Citadel! He knew her name! Well, he often called her Brian, but it was with affection. Like a nickname. Archmaester Marwyn had given her a nickname!

These precious hours in the afternoon that she spent managing Marwyn’s bibliography were a much needed oasis of peace and quiet from the raging storm of Cersei Lannister beyond. She thought forlornly of Jaime’s attempts to save her from this fate. He had such a good heart. If only he hadn’t become one of the many nuisances she had to manage.

It was bad enough that she was running around with florists and musicians and club promoters and septons on speed dial. But now she was constantly running interference between Jaime and his sister, because he never stopped using those moments to try and get in some digs about Robert.

“He’s so clumsy, his apartment is full of things he’s managed to break and hasn’t replaced yet. And lazy. Have I mentioned how lazy he is?” Jaime had pretended to complain about his accommodations, while watching Cersei under his golden lashes to see if any of his words were having an affect.

Brienne also glanced at Cersei nervously. Her blond head was bowed over her phone, her expression hidden behind her hair.

“He’s not clumsy, he’s just strong,” Brienne interjected from Cersei’s other side. “And he’s very tall and big, it’s not surprising he has a little more trouble than most getting through an apartment. And he’s not lazy, he’s only a professional athlete who is really busy and doesn’t have time to replace the mixer or whatever it is you’re complaining about.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sure staying out at all hours to go drinking with friends is really appropriate father material,” Jaime tsked on another day, when he’d managed to evade Ned Stark yet again.

“But I’m sure he’ll give that up once you’re married and the baby is here,” Brienne hastened to assure Cersei.

“Have you noticed how he always talks with his mouth full,” Jaime snorted after they’d all had dinner and Ned and Robert had been dispatched to do the dishes.

“It was only because he was so excited about what you were saying about the wedding,” Brienne offered weakly to Cersei. 

Honestly it was a little exhausting spending all this time defending Robert, when most of Jaime’s critiques were true. But she knew that Robert’s heart was in the right place, even if Jaime couldn’t see it. Jaime was protective of Cersei, and maybe yes a little too stubborn for his own good. Brienne felt another surge of affection for her prickly knight in shining armor.

“And what exactly will Robert do once his football career is over? Be a house husband while you run Lannister Corp?” Jaime asked snidely as they watched his car pull up below.

All the same, she would kill him if she had to take much more of this.

“Robert has plenty of ambitions beyond the football field,” Brienne replied rather waspishly.

“He does?” Jaime’s lip curled into a sneer.

“He does?” Cersei turned, looking genuinely surprised.

Shit. Ummmmm think. Think think think. He must have said something to Renly? 

“He wants to start a bar,” Brienne announced triumphantly, grasping at a wisp of memory. Or was it a brewery? “With Thoros.” Or was it Ned?

“Huh,” Cersei said, and then went back to deciding who could be trusted to sit at her father’s table.

“See, maybe you don’t know him quite as well as you think you do,” Jaime said triumphantly, shooting Brienne a smug look. “Why not postpone the wedding? Really take some time to learn everything there is to know about each other?”

No! How could he twist it! Brienne glared at him. Jaime winked back.

“Why even Brienne probably knows Robert better than you do,” Jaime said lightly and sauntered out.

“That’s definitely not true,” Brienne assured Cersei. “I just spent a lot of time at their house because Renly...”

“Oh Brienne,” Cersei took her hand and patted it. “You don’t have to worry, I know everything.”

“You do?” Brienne said, a wave of relief flooding her senses. Because finally, this whole ridiculous charade could be over and Cersei could talk some sense into Jaime and they could go back to planning this wedding which really was spinning somewhat out of control.

“It was so obvious,” Cersei smiled somewhat pityingly.

“It was rather obvious wasn’t it?” Brienne blushed, thinking of Jaime’s borderline blatant hostility.

“And you’ve been such a dear helping as you have.”

“Well of course! You are my fa—friend,” Brienne stammered, realizing she’d been about to say family. Which of course she wasn’t, it’s not like she and Jaime had ever talked about it, it was just all this nonsense about weddings that was making her fanciful...

“I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you,” Cersei said sympathetically.

Brienne cocked her head. Something about the gushing empathy felt a little... excessive? She flashed back on her conversation with Melisandre.

“What do you think we’re talking about?” Brienne asked suspiciously.

“You’re in love with Robert,” Cersei said matter of factly. 

Brienne felt her eyes bulge slightly and her mouth twist in an expression of involuntary disgust at the idea. Because... Robert?!?!

“Oh please don’t cry, I’m not mad,” Cersei mistook her expression for something else entirely. “I should have realized that’s why you befriended Renly all those years ago. To be closer to him. You knew it was hopeless of course, but you just couldn’t help but torture yourself. And then you finally got over him and moved on to Jaime, but me asking you to be the maid of honor at our wedding has dragged up all these suppressed feelings and I just think you’re so... brave,” Cersei suddenly enveloped her in an awkward hug. Brienne stood stiffly, not really sure what to do with her arms. At length she settled on a gentle shoulder pat.

At least Cersei could no longer see her expression, because... Robert?!

Robert who could never remember anybody’s name, who leered at every girl in a short skirt, who belched and farted and scratched his ass in public. It wasn’t that he was aesthetically unattractive, quite the opposite (although Renly would definitely be the best looking of the three, Brienne added loyally), but the idea of thinking about him romantically was just... ugh!

But how could she say that to Cersei, who actually despite all odds and every indication to the contrary, really did like him?! There was no helping it.

“It is very... hard... sometimes,” Brienne tried to sound a little tragic.

“You mustn’t worry that I’ll tell Jaime, this is just between us. These old feelings will go away as soon as the wedding is over, you’ll see,” Cersei squeezed her more tightly. “And you and Jaime will live happily ever after. You know Brienne, you’re so much more than a friend to me. I’ve felt it for some time. You’re like... a sister,” Cersei stepped back and beamed at her.

Caught in the floodlights of Cersei’s dazzling smile, the warmth of her gaze, the faint scent of her perfume, light and feminine and perfectly Cersei, Brienne had no choice but to smile uncertainly back. Because more than anything, she wanted Jaime’s family to like her, to support their relationship. And she had just won over another member. All she had to do was make sure that this wedding didn’t blow up in her face.

Naturally the first person she wanted to tell was Jaime. She caught him shrugging his coat on to take the car back to Robert’s.

“Guess what?” She hugged him from behind.

“You’ve forgiven me for being better at this than you,” Jaime smirked.

“You are, but it doesn’t matter,” Brienne let him go to kiss him lightly on the lips. “She won’t listen, because she’s in lo—“

“Oh look at the time,” Jaime checked his watch ostentatiously. “I’d better get a move on if I’m going to get to Tarbeck Hall.”

“Tarbeck Hall?” Brienne frowned. That was where that photographer lived. The one Cersei was so hellbent on getting. “Isn’t Robert going?”

“Oh something came up with Renly, he had to run back to King’s Landing,” Jaime said nonchalantly. Brienne raised an eyebrow. Renly was at theater camp.

“Where is Ned?” She asked slowly.

“Stannis thought it would be better if he drove Robert. You know how Robert is with driving on highways. Stannis didn’t want him to get a speeding ticket.”

“So Stannis suddenly needed Robert and Ned in King’s Landing, and you just... volunteered... to get the photographer out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I do have a terribly good heart,” Jaime gave her a roguishly crooked grin.

“It’s not that good.”

“You wound me, wench.”

“Jaime!” Brienne hissed, the picture snapping into focus. “You’re going to do sabotage the photographer! You’re going to say something terribly rude or be an ass or a jerk or... or... SOMETHING, and then Cersei will blame Robert because he was supposed to go!”

“Cross my terribly good heart, Brienne,” Jaime crossed his heart easily, “I will not be rude or an ass or a jerk. I will be completely normal and polite.”

Brienne stared at him. He never lied to her, but he wasn’t above holding things back. What was she missing?

“Right then,” Brienne said matter of factly. “I’m coming with you.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Jaime started to protest. “Doesn’t Cersei need you here for moral support?”

“She has phone calls all morning, an appointment with her publicist this afternoon, and then she’s meeting Melisandre in King’s Landing to discuss cakes. If you’re going to be a gentleman, I don’t see what the problem is,” Brienne tilted her head, voice treacly sweet.

Jaime rolled his shoulders back, prepared to do battle.

“As you wish, milady,” he took her hand and kissed it. “I will not have my gentlemanly credentials impugned.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but still blushed as she retrieved her hand.

Tarbeck Hall was in the northernmost reaches of the Westerlands, and Oldtown in the Southwest of the Reach. It was a six hour drive, and Jaime didn’t miss an opportunity to show off his chivalric bonafides. She emerged from a rest stop to discover that he had picked her a garland of wildflowers.

“For my Queen of Love and Beauty,” he bowed and placed it on her brow.

“You know I’m nothing of the sort,” Brienne huffed, removing it gently so not to damage his hard work.

“I beg to disagree,” he frowned, looking a trifle sulky when she placed it on their dashboard instead. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I do, it’s just, it’s hardly historically accurate. Those were reserved for princesses and ladies and great beauties,” Brienne stumbled a bit trying to explain. “Not for big athletic sorts like me.”

“I happen to think you are a great beauty,” Jaime said gently.

“Well the world disagrees,” Brienne snarked back, and slammed the car door to show she was done with the conversation.

A pensive, somewhat stilted silence ensued, and of course Brienne began to feel a bit badly. It wasn’t Jaime’s fault that Ron Connington had called her “Beauty” in fifth grade. It wasn’t his fault that the boys would throw flowers at her and run away laugh-screaming in terror lest the Beauty get too close.

Jaime would have never done that. Jaime had never been anything less than caring and protective. She loved him endlessly, adoringly, down to the last hair on his ridiculous blond head. She loved his harebrained ideas and his ridiculous family and... wait! She hadn’t even told him!

“I forgot to tell you!” She blurted into the awkwardness. “Cersei said I was like a sister to her,” she said proudly.

Jaime looked over, although he did not match her excitement, somewhat to Brienne’s disappointment. Instead his features seemed to be conveying more of an affectionate bemusement.

“You know she’s always liked you fine.”

“But that’s not good enough! I want her to like me more than fine, and now she does!” Brienne poked him, trying to prod him into some enthusiasm.

“That’s Tyrion and now Cersei,” she smiled.

“Is that what all of this is about?” Jaime arched just eyebrow. “Getting my family to like you?”

“No...” Brienne said, not entirely convincingly.

“What on earth would make you think I cared one whit what my family thinks of us?!”

“But I care!” Brienne protested. “I don’t want to cause problems with your family!”

“And I don’t want my family to drive you away!” Jaime ran a hand through his hair. 

Brienne paused.

“Why would you think they would drive me away?” She asked gently.

“Because they’re completely nuts! My dad is literally blackmailing my sister into marriage, she’s fine with it as long as it helps her raise her public profile, Tyrion’s fine with it because apparently he thinks forced marriages are a thing that can work, and I don’t want you to spend all summer in this black hole of insanity and decide I’m not worth it,” Jaime admitted.

Brienne rested her head on his shoulder.

“I will never think you’re not worth it,” she said quietly. “You are worth everything.”

Jaime leaned his own head against hers carefully, eyes still on the road.

“You’re just so good Brienne. And my family really REALLY isn’t.”

“I don’t think you have the clearest perspective on them,” Brienne sighed. “But even if you’re right, it wouldn’t matter. At the end of the day, nothing matters but you.”

“I love you,” Jaime lifted his head so he could kiss her temple. 

“I love you too,” Brienne answered. “Is there any chance this was why you’re trying to torpedo the wedding?”

“Nope. Cersei needs to be saved from herself and as usual, I’m the only one willing to do what needs to be done. Well me and Stannis.”

“She doesn’t need to be saved from herself, she’s marrying the father of her child.”

“She’s marrying a promise that she’ll be CEO of Lannister Corp when father steps down.”

“She loves him.”

“She doesn’t,” Jaime squared his shoulders stubbornly.

“How can you be so smart and so wrong,” Brienne groaned, breaking their cuddle.

“Maybe the same way you won’t wear my flower crown,” Jaime huffed.

“If I wear your flower crown, will you stop trying to sabotage the wedding?” Brienne tried.

“Not a chance.”

They finally found Tarbeck Hall an hour past Lannisport, where the smooth highways had given way to crumbling pavement. They almost missed the shabby sign, which directed them up a winding dirt road.

Brienne was starting to think Jaime was deliberately hitting all of the potholes on purpose, but finally they arrived at the ramshackle mansion. Brienne shivered. She wasn’t superstitious but this place definitely looked haunted. She half expected storm clouds to suddenly gather and a thunderclap to greet their arrival, but the summer afternoon remained oppressively hot as ever.

“What do you know about Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne whispered.

“Elusive and world famous photographer who’s features have headlined every major magazine in Westeros?” Jaime smiled at her, and Brienne felt like he was making a joke that she wasn’t quite getting.

“And she lives here? She must be loaded!”

“It’s her husband’s family estate.”

“Is her husband... with us?”

“No he killed himself maybe thirty years ago. They say she went quite mad for a while.”

Brienne swallowed. A madwoman in a haunted house and she had to convince her to photograph a high society wedding while Jaime did... something nefarious. No pressure.

She walked up to the front door and pressed the buzzer, fully expecting some kind of trap door to open up beneath her feet. Instead a doleful bell sounded, chiming eerily off the crumbling stonework.

Jaime was humming something under his breath, still seeming oddly at ease.

“What are you so chipper about?” Brienne arched an eyebrow.

“I’m on an adventure with you, why wouldn’t I be chipper?” Jaime asked innocently.

“Huh,” Brienne gave back, unimpressed. She rang the bell again, trying not to wince at the sound. There was the sound of a door unlocking.

“Rush rush rush, all you young people nowadays in such a rush,” a woman with silver hair and sharp blue eyes stepped out. She was tall and slim, with a faded glamour about the sundress she was wearing, paired rather incongruously with hiking boots. Her skin was a walnut brown that spoke to long days outdoors, and made the blue of her eyes and the silver of her hair stand out all the more starkly.

“Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne asked politely.

But the woman had frozen, her eyes fixed on Jaime. For a moment, nobody spoke. And then her gaze narrowed.

“You!” She pointed at Jaime dramatically. “Lannister!”

“Jaime Lannister, specifically,” Jaime said politely.

“Why is a Lannister darkening my doorstep?” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed at Brienne.

Brienne opened her mouth, completely at a loss for words. 

“I’m the bride’s brother,” Jaime interjected helpfully.

“The Baratheon bride?!” Ellyn Tarbeck took a step backward, hand on her heart.

“Yes, Robert Baratheon intends to marry my sister Cersei Lannister. Tywin Lannister’s only daughter. Since he’s paying for the wedding, you can really think of him as your employer,” Jaime replied in a faux helpful voice that Brienne distrusted deeply.

“Get out,” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed.

“Am I to understand that you no longer wish to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister nuptials?” Jaime said in a voice that fell a couple miles short of shocked.

“GET OUT!!!” Ellyn Tabeck screeched and then slammed the door in their faces.

Brienne blinked as the echo of the slam ricocheted off the world around them.

“Well I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Jaime smiled brightly.

Brienne glared.

“What?!”


	13. Jaime (What Have You Done 4 of 8)

Jaime didn’t feel bad. He really didn’t. It wasn’t his fault Brienne had decided to come along and shoulder the burden of trying to stop his evil plan. She could have stayed in Oldtown and had a perfectly pleasant day off instead of schlepping across all of the Reach and the Westerlands in an impromptu road trip.

“Cersei will be so upset,” Brienne twisted her hands as she paced to and fro in front of the car. She had her cell phone out and had been debating calling her for the last twenty minutes.

“Neither your fault nor your problem,” Jaime tried to give her a shoulder massage, but she shrugged him off.

“I can’t tell her Robert asked you to do it, because then she’ll call off the wedding. Maybe I can tell her that I insisted on doing it? But she’ll be so mad! What if she hates me?!”

“Then I would have a stern talk with her. She’s not allowed to hate you,” Jaime sighed.

Brienne gave him a very doubtful look and then resumed pacing. Jaime cast about for ideas.

“Look, just put the phone down. Let’s do something while we’re here. Didn’t we pass a turn off sign for a waterfall a mile back? Let’s go see a waterfall.”

“I’ve seen waterfalls,” Brienne fretted. “This is serious.”

“All the more reason not to make any hasty decisions,” Jaime said soothingly. “Some fresh air, some exercise, some nature—it’ll help you think clearly.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Brienne hesitated.

“When will you learn?” Jaime grinned. “I’m always right.”

There was a little empty parking lot for the waterfall, which they eventually found about a mile down a pleasantly wooded trail. Jaime had forced Brienne to leave her phone in the car, and she already seemed more relaxed. He could tell by the way the line of her neck had lengthened, the slight bounce of her blond hair, the spring in the step of her sinfully long legs... not a Queen of Love and Beauty indeed.

“What are you looking at?” She said, sensing that his gaze had wandered from splashing of the small waterfall. 

“You know what I’m looking at,” Jaime dropped his voice, just to see her cheeks pink.

“Stop,” she pushed him.

“Let’s go swimming,” he proposed, not eager to return to the car, pending call to Cersei or otherwise.

“Now? Here?”

“Why not, it’s a perfectly lovely natural pool. There’s nobody around. It’s hot as balls.”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

“As you wish,” Jaime shrugged, but proceeded to kick off his shoes and strip to his boxers.

“Jaime! What if someone comes!”

“I’m not naked,” he laughed. “Unless you’d like me to be...”

While she stammered for a response, he picked his way down into the pool below them. It was even better than he had hoped, the crisp bite of the fresh water. He plunged his head under and then shook his hair, aware that his gaze was not the only one that had wandered from the waterfall. With a mischievous smirk, he started paddling out toward the center.

“Jaime, get back here!” Brienne whispered, as if someone might hear them.

“Not a chance,” he treaded water as the pool became deeper. “And you know I got a candy bar from that gas station. I’m going to get cramps, Brienne. You’ll need to rescue me.”

“I will do no such thing,” Brienne lifted her chin.

“You were a lifeguard in high school! Didn’t you take an oath?”

“Lifeguards don’t have to take oaths, Jaime,” Brienne laughed.

“I bet you took one anyway,” Jaime teased. He let himself slip under the water and pop back up with a sputter. “There it is! The cramp!”

“You don’t have a cramp!”

“Brienne, I’m drowning!”

“You’re not drowning!”

“Brienne, you need to rescue me!”

“You don’t—“

Jaime let himself slip beneath the water for a second time, and sure enough, he heard the splash seconds later. Brienne took easy sure strokes out to him, and towed him on with her to the other side. They collapsed on the bank dramatically. Jaime tried to give a pathetic cough.

“Oh stop it,” Brienne smiled down at him, resting on her side. She was still wearing her white tank top, but had removed her shorts to reveal the cotton panties underneath. 

“Traditionally the rescuer gives the kiss of life,” Jaime pointed out.

“You’re incorrigible,” Brienne leaned down and kissed him. He savored the kiss for a moment and then slid his hand down her back to cheekily squeeze the swell of her ass.

“That is not part of the kiss of life,” Brienne joke scolded him. Then she pushed off and paddled backward toward the fall.

“Come back here!” It was Jaime’s turn to scold. She only splashed him in response. With a huff, he dove in after her.

Perhaps an hour later, they clambered back up toward the trail, retrieving their shoes and discarded clothing. Brienne seemed vastly more at ease, and Jaime found that his own restless anxiety had correspondingly subsided.

“I know you were peeking during Marco Polo,” Brienne butted him with her shoulder.

“Wench, I am shocked and appalled at your distrustful nature. I’m just naturally intuitive!”

“Naturally intuitive when your eyes are open!”

“Who hurt you to make you like this? Was it Renly? It was probably Renly. Little shit never met a rule he couldn’t br—“

They rounded the corner and Jaime trailed off abruptly. Ellyn Tarbeck, still wearing her hiking boots and sundress, now with a large camera complete with bulky lens, was leaning against their car.

“Hello again,” Ellyn said at last, when neither of them seemed inclined to speak.

“Ms. Tarbeck,” Jaime said cautiously, trying to edge between her and Brienne. She wasn’t supposed to be violent-crazy, but that camera would pack a wallop if she started swinging it. 

With a snort, Brienne stepped back around him.

“Needless to say, I found your unexpected arrival very upsetting,” Ellyn Tarbeck said, fixing Jaime with a steely look. 

He swallowed, and wondered what he would do if she sprung. Could he hit an old lady? He looked at her arms, dark brown and wiry. He rather thought he could.

“I went on a hike, as I often do when I want to be alone with my thoughts. Some of my deepest wells of artistic inspiration come from my time in nature, and this afternoon was no exception,” she cleared her throat, looking off to the side. Was she nervous? 

“Young lady, I saw you at the Castamere falls. I had been taking some shots of the light beams on the water when the two of you quite rudely interrupted. But since I was already there... well I took some shots. And I am very pleased with them, and will need you to sign a waiver allowing my further use of your likeness should I wish to use the images in my work,” she rattled off in a rush.

Jaime arched an eyebrow. Brienne looked dumbstruck. Seeing that she appeared incapable of speech, he stepped in.

“May we see the images?” He asked, partly to buy her time and partly because he was intrigued.

She glared at him with an expression of undisguised loathing. He smiled sweetly back.

“Here,” she grunted, thrusting the camera at him. “Use that black switch to toggle. If you touch anything else, I will bury you.”

Jaime ignored that last part and blithely began to toggle away. The light on the water shots were he supposed well done, but it was all rather artsy and dull and not his thing... then he came across the first picture of Brienne. This was his thing.

It caught her mid backstroke, lips partly open in an infectious smile. The sun had caught her eyes and ever bead of water that cling to her windmilling arm—it was joyous, it was beautiful, it was... Jaime’s eyes slid to the way her white shirt clung to her curves... hot.

“Let me see,” Brienne pushed him gently. Mouth dry, he handed it over. She looked down at the screen and abruptly her face flushed.

“No, I’m sorry, but no. You can’t use this,” she firmly shoved the camera back into Ellyn Tarbeck’s chest.

“If it’s a question of money,” the woman said uncertainly.

“It’s a question of looking a fool for strangers to gawp at,” Brienne huffed. “Jaime, come on. Let’s go.”

He let her pull him into the car, where she carefully pulled it out into the highway without ever so much as looking at Ellyn Tarbeck. It wasn’t until they were a mile down the road that she pulled over, and he realized that she was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching around her shoulders to pull her into a one-armed hug.

“I just feel so embarrassed,” Brienne mumbled into his shirt. He stroked her hair tentatively.

“That she was spying on us? I don’t think we were really doing anything...”

“No! Of that picture, I look ridiculous!”

Jaime pulled back so he could stare at her.

“Brienne, you looked athletic and happy and pretty sexy. What on earth is wrong with that?”

“I look like I don’t know...” Brienne bit her lip. “that I’m ugly.” 

Jaime sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Remember on the ride up when I said that was in your head?”

Brienne nodded, eyes sliding down to the ground. He lifted her chin up to catch her gaze again.

“I can’t see better evidence. Why would Ellyn Tarbeck, a perfect stranger, care about embarrassing you? She took the picture because it was beautiful. She doesn’t know you from Addam.”

“Maybe she does that,” Brienne mumbled.

“Does what?”

“Takes pictures of... big girls.”

Jaime wasn’t sure whether he wanted to bang his head against the window or cover her in kisses to prove how beautiful she was.

“Ellyn Tarbeck is a wedding photographer for Vogue. She doesn’t take pictures of big girls. She does artsy crap like a groom lifting a bride’s veil at sunset. Now get out of the car.”

“Why?” 

“Because we are driving back to Tarbeck Hall and she is going to show you her photography. Let’s make a deal. If you look at her other photos and think they’re beautiful, then it means the photos of you are also beautiful, and that voice in your head belongs to a prepubescent Ron Connington and he can go to hell. If you don’t like her other photos, then I’ll smash her camera to little bits.”

Brienne gave a watery smile.

“Even if I don’t like her other photos, you can’t do that. Just make her delete them.”

“Deal,” Jaime leaned over and kissed the tip of her perfectly freckled nose.

Had he thought the ride up was tense? It was nothing compared to the return, when he was so close to vanquishing this demon. If he’d fucked up his sabotage mission, he would have just moved on to the next plan, and the next, and the next. Never would he get such a perfect opportunity to make Brienne see herself as he saw her again.

They pulled up to the mansion and Jaime hopped out determinedly, before Brienne could change her mind. He rang the doorbell.

There was a pause, during which Brienne slowly let herself out and joined him with a hangdog expression.

The door opened.

“Have you changed your mind?” Ellyn Tarbeck demanded of Brienne while ignoring Jaime completely.

“I... I mean we,” Brienne stammered.

“Brienne would like to see some of your other art. She wants to know in what kind of context you might conceivably reproduce these images,” Jaime cut in.

“Oh,” Ellyn Tarbeck looked blankly surprised. “Well I suppose there’s no harm.” 

All the same, she seemed dangerously close to shutting the door on Jaime. Only Brienne lacing her fingers into his stayed the woman’s scowl.

“I’ll let you look at a few coffee table books,” the photographer ushered them into an enormous library. She began pulling out large books, seemingly at random, and tossing them on a sofa for Brienne to peruse. “If I’m not working on commission, this is my bread and butter. I like that one there—Life in the Ruins of Valyria. Here’s a couple wedding books; not my best work, but it’s what the public wants. Here’s one from my time in the Iron Islands. I’ll give you a few minutes to flip through, while I make some tea. Please let me know if you have any questions.” 

Brienne nodded with a polite smile and Ellyn Tarbeck excused herself.

Jaime claimed the book of the Iron Islands, flipping through it efficiently, and shortly finding a similar photo of some girls sunbathing on a rocky outcrop. There could be no doubt that they met all traditional definitions of beauty—one caught lowering herself into the water could well have been a mermaid. He turned to show Brienne, but caught her looking down at a photo from old Valyria, a child touching her mother’s face, oblivious to the melted spires of rock behind them. Brienne was smiling down at it a trace wistfully. Jaime decided to let her explore at her own pace, though he did leave the Iron Islands book open to the page he’d found.

There was a companionable silence while Brienne buried herself into the books, meticulously studying each page. Jaime meticulously studied the way she wet her lips in concentration, the way the light caught her white-blonde eyelashes.

Just as he was starting to feel rather drowsy, the Tarbeck woman returned, holding a mug of tea. She had not offered to make them any, Jaime noted with some disdain.

“I can’t promise I’d ever use your photos, but I might include it in a collection, or a similar installation in an art gallery. If it were in an art gallery, it could be conceivably purchased for a private collection,” she explained crisply. “You could neither limit its distribution nor would you be entitled to any profit I might make. On the other hand, they are quite stunning. My models are typically happy with the results. What do you say?”

“I think,” Brienne blushed, “that might be acceptable.” Jaime squeezed her hand encouragingly. His girlfriend the model! Suck it, Ron Connington.

“But,” she bit her lip. Oh no, was she second-guessing herself? She was making such strides!

“I have a condition,” she said finally.

“No strings on the distribution and no profit-sharing,” Ellyn Tarbeck said sternly. “I will not have you interfering with my artistic expression. And certainly not my bottom line.”

“It’s not that,” Brienne squared her shoulders. “I will sign your waiver if you agree to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister wedding.”

Wait what?

“That is, if it’s okay with you?” Brienne squeezed Jaime’s hand back, an almost imperceptibly triumphant look in her eyes. Jaime managed to smile through gritted teeth.

“Of course...That’s... why we came out here, after all.”

“Good,” Brienne nodded, then turned back to Ellyn Tarbeck. “Do we have a deal?”

Maybe she’d say no. It was only a handful of photos after all. A handful of insanely gorgeous photos. What was that compared to a decades-long blood feud?

Ellyn Tarbeck delicately set down her glass of tea.

“We have a deal.”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. This had been such a perfect plan. How had it failed? Well he knew how it had failed, and even now he couldn’t be completely upset about the way things had turned out. Still. It had been such a good opportunity. But there would be others. Of course there would. That’s what they had to focus on. That this was just one bite at the apple. One bite that he had slightly screwed up, but only with the very best of intentions. He wondered what Stannis would say to that.


	14. Stannis (What Have You Done 5 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note at the outset--I'm not Catholic and have borrowed some concepts from Catholicism for the Seven. You can be kind and attribute inaccuracies to the differences between the two religions, but the truth is that they are largely driven by my own ignorance and/or the mandates of the plot :)

Stannis gently closed the door to his office. He walked over to the couch where he typically had important clients, board members or investors sit and laid down. Delicately he inserted the ear buds into his ears, and closed his eyes as the classical music washed over him.

Today had been... appalling. First, he had to deal with managing Robert’s estate, and Cersei’s hare-brained idea for a charitable organization. He knew the Lannisters created “charities” for any passing fancy that they promptly abandoned, but that was not how the Baratheons did business. It didn’t help that she had been swigging a glass of champagne during their Ravyn call. How was he the only person who didn’t think she was actually pregnant?! The signs were right there!!! It was SO OBVIOUS!!

Then he’d had to deal with a shareholder’s meeting regarding unexpected storms in the Jade Sea that were playing havoc with their shipping routes. There was a possibility that they might miss their projected earnings for the quarter, and everybody was in a testy mood. It didn’t help that Melisandre had been making him sleep on the couch. He was developing a terrible crick in his neck and could barely keep his eyes open.

All because she was annoyed at him for keeping secrets. Of course he was keeping secrets! She certainly wouldn’t approve if he had told her the truth!

After he’d half dozed through the shareholder meeting, he’d had to hurry over to the hospital to meet Robert and Ned, who he had convinced that Renly had been injured in an accident at drama camp.

“So it turns out it wasn’t him,” Stannis said, as they hurried into the waiting room. Ned came to a halt and Robert promptly plowed into him, sending Ned sprawling.

“What do you mean it wasn’t him,” Robert growled.

“Erm, there was a mixup with the campers,” Stannis said tentatively, having not particularly thought this lie through beyond luring Robert and Ned away from Oldtown.

“And you didn’t think to call us?” Ned pushed himself stiffly to his feet.

“Errr... no,” Stannis said blankly. Well playing dumb worked for Robert.

There was a long pause as Ned and Robert stared him down.

“That was very inconsiderate,” Ned said at last.

“I’m sorry,” Stannis offered tepidly.

“We traveled three and a half hours to get here. Robert had engagements he had to cancel,” Ned continued sternly.

“I’m very sorry,” Stannis tried insincerely.

“It’s unlike you to be so careless,” Ned went on. Stannis wanted to grind his teeth, as Ned continued to lecture him on the importance of thoughtfulness, selflessness, family, duty, honor.... Who did he think he was talking to? Robert?!?!? As if Stannis had ever fallen short of the standards of good behavior. Even this was a thoughtful and selfless attempt to save his brother from his worst instincts, and did he get any credit? Of course not!

Speaking of his brother, Robert had been quiet the entire time. Something of a record. When Ned FINALLY ran out steam, Robert only eyed him suspiciously.

After a long pause, Robert cleared his throat.

“You know you can always... talk to me,” he said awkwardly.

“Of course,” Stannis said quickly, the biggest lie he’d told yet.

They stared at each other again.

“Well come on,” Ned finally tugged at Robert’s arm. “We have to get out of city limits before rush hour hits.”

It was with some relief that he had headed back to his and Melisandre’s apartment. Only to confront someone heading down the stairs with an enormous box.

“That looks heavy, let me help,” Stannis scrambled to assist, even as his brain was registering that the person was too short to be Melisandre.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said the allegedly pregnant Cersei Lannister, shifting her grip on the giant box and continuing down the stairs.

How was he the only person seeing this?!

After a brooding pause, Stannis had decided to go back to the office.

Now as Bach soothingly lulled him into calmness, he was able to let go of some of the outrage that had dogged him all day. It was all about to be over. No more lying or subterfuge, which he had always been terrible at. No more distractions from work. And most importantly, no more Cersei Lannister.

Yes, any moment, Jaime would call on his cell to let him know that Ellyn Tarbeck would be photographing the Lannister-Baratheon wedding over her dead body. Cersei would let Robert know she would be marrying him over her dead body. And this would all be gloriously over.

His cell phone rang. He glanced over. It was Jaime Lannister.

“Success?” Stannis picked up immediately.

“Um... not exactly,” Jaime answered cautiously.

Or it wouldn’t be over. Because nothing ever went according to plan.

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Stannis bit out.

“Well I introduced myself and she naturally freaked out and told us she would never do the wedding and to get the hell off her property.”

“Okay?” Stannis sighed, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“And then she might have snapped some photos of Brienne while we were taking a dip at a local watering hole. Brienne was terribly embarrassed and I encouraged her to go back and meet with Ellyn Tarbeck, so she could see that the photos really were quite lovely. And then one thing led to another, and Brienne said she’d let Tarbeck have the rights to the photos if she did the wedding,” Jaime blurted.

Stannis slowly slid off the couch onto the floor.

“If you think about it, this is actually a good thing,” Jaime said nervously into the silence.

“How?” Stannis asked hollowly.

“Well it’s really done wonders for Brienne’s self-esteem. You know how fixated Cersei is on appearances, and I think it was starting to mess with Brienne a bit, but she’s been pretty proud of the photos. I actually heard her telling her dad about them, and she never brags about things like that.”

“I understand why it might be good for Brienne Tarth’s esteem. I fail to see how this development is good for out objectives,” Stannis ground out.

“Oh,” Jaime said. There was a pause. “Well it’s not.”

There was another long silence.

“I’ll come up with something else,” Jaime said a tad defensively.

“I think you have done QUITE enough,” Stannis retorted. “I will come up with a plan to interfere with the Vogue coverage without your assistance.”

“You?” Jaime sounded doubtful.

“Me!” Stannis huffed. And then he hung up. Because he had been taking a lot of guff from people all day, but one person who was in no position to cast stones was Jaime-can’t-even-take-advantage-of-a-perfectly-good-blood-feud-Lannister.

But Jaime maybe had a point. Hadn’t he just been thinking how bad he was at lying and subterfuge? He wasn’t a particularly sneaky person. How was he going to subtly interfere in the runaway train that was this wedding? Subtly interfere in a way that didn’t make Robert hate him forever?

He needed help. He needed advice.

“Why are you still here, everyone’s gone home,” Davos Seaworth stuck his head in, blinking at finding Stannis sprawled on the ground.

Stannis stared at him. Thank you gods.

“Are you... er... alright?” Davos raised an eyebrow.

“You are my best friend, Davos,” Stannis began. “I hope you know that. I would literally trust you with my life.”

“Did you like have a fall or something? Should we be taking you to the hospital?”

“And I have the utmost respect for your intelligence,” Stannis continued, ignoring him.

“What did you even fall off of? Can I drive you or do we need to call an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Stannis struggled to a sitting position, looking up at him. “If you were going to stop a wedding and nobody could know it was you, how would you do it?”

“Bribe the priest?” Davos tried to joke. Stannis considered.

“It’s the High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor, he probably doesn’t do that sort of thing,” Stannis decided.

“Great Sept of Baelor?! Stannis, are you trying to stop your brother’s wedding?” Davos glared at him.

“Not the wedding per se. Just certain media coverage,” Stannis frowned.

“Well don’t piss off the Sept of Baelor or you’re screwed. I can’t believe Robert and Cersei even managed to get that place. They do things by the book you know, and I can’t really picture them taking pre-Cana,” Davos laughed.

Stannis tried to smile, but he really had no idea what Davos was talking about.

“Um pre-Cana?”

Davos saw his expression and sighed.

“Have you ever even been to sept?”

Stannis scratched his head. Cassana Baratheon was the sort of person who considered herself ‘spiritual’ rather than ‘religious’. And Steffon Baratheon was the sort of person who considered himself neither.

“Maybe a couple times at Sevenmas?” Stannis frowned. He definitely remembered Robert getting into the sacramental wine and puking on Renly’s shoes. Renly had cried the whole way home.

“Uh right, the big septs don’t let you get married unless you meet with a septon beforehand. They talk to you about the sacredness of marriage and kids and sex and divorce and stuff. It varies from sept to sept how intense it is. Sometimes it can go for like six months.”

“And you were saying...”

“Just that picturing Robert and Cersei sitting there promising some septon that they’re virgins is a funny thought.”

It was a funny thought. Somehow he couldn’t picture either of them doing that. Something was fishy. And Stannis was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Thank you Davos, you’ve been very helpful.” Stannis stood, brushing himself off.

“I have?” Davos asked doubtfully.

“Yes. Now I’ve got to go make some calls.”

“What about the hospital?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For your concussion?”

“I assure you,” Stannis gave a slightly unnerving grin. “I am thinking perfectly clearly.”

The easiest way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Robert. And as luck would happen, Robert had been brought up talking quite recently.

Stannis once more picked up his cell phone.

Robert answered on the third or fourth ring. (While such response was not particularly prompt, that he picked up at all was unusual. Stannis was used to having to call several times, and leave copious voicemails and texts before getting any kind of response. Usually in emoji form.)

“Stannis, what’s up?” He said, sounding a little stilted. Like he was on stage but didn’t know his lines. Well that made two of them.

“I was thinking about what you were saying earlier,” Stannis began tentatively.

“Oh?”

“About how we can always talk.”

“Um right.”

There was a pause.

“Did you want to talk?” Robert finally asked, sounding as though he rather hoped the answer was no. Stannis face palmed.

“Yes.”

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?”

Stannis racked his brain.

“I just feel like we haven’t really... talked... in a while,” he finally said tepidly, cursing his lack of a good segue.

“Oh is that what the Venmo request was about?”

Stannis frowned.

“What Venmo request?”

“You were mad I didn’t tell you about the wedding and you’re worried that we’re drifting apart? Awww Stanny!”

Stannis had literally no idea what he was talking about. He habitually split everything. He knew Robert tended toward the belief that over the long run, all expenses would eventually net out. But as far as Stannis was concerned, the best way to net everything out was to split everything and that was that.

But Robert seemed markedly less cautious, and this was at least a path toward discussing the High Sept of Baelor.

“Yes,” he said. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on in your life.”

The statement was ludicrous. He could literally turn on a television and see what was going on in his brother’s life.

“I’m sorry, that makes complete sense,” Robert said. He could practically feel Robert nodding along earnestly on the other side of the phone.

“How’s er... wedding planning going?” Stannis asked.

“Eh it’s fine. Did I tell you I booked Tom Sevens for the after party? It’s going to be epic!!! And on Tywin Lannister’s dime too, ha!”

Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Cersei does most of it, honestly. The only thing she really put on my plate was getting the photographer today. Good thing Jaime was there to cover right?”

“Yeah, good thing,” Stannis growled.

“He’s not my favorite, but he really saved the day you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“Credit where credit is due right? The whole wedding might have been sunk without him!”

Stannis tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Say, I had a question about the Sept of Baelor,” he said.

“Ugh, church is such a drag. Remember when we got kicked out because Renly wouldn’t stop crying during Sevenmas mass?”

“We got kicked out because you drank a bottle of sacramental wine!”

“No, it was definitely because Renly wouldn’t stop crying.”

“He was crying because you threw up on his new shoes!”

“Hahahahaha that’s right. See, I told you it was his fault. So what’s the question?”

“Well Davos said there’s some kind of pre-ceremony education course you have to do?”

Robert groaned.

“Ugh it’s the worst. Cersei had her father make a huge donation to get the space, so they’re letting us do most of the classes online. It’s like three hours on Sundays. Cersei just texts me the answers.”

Stannis frowned, first at the flagrant rule bending for those with money, second at the flagrant rule breaking by Robert, and third at the fact that there didn’t seem to be an angle here.

“So it’s a done deal? You just have to do some stuff online?”

Maybe he would have to bribe the septon...

“Well that and meet with some deacon next weekend to get the final nod. They just want someone to talk to you and make sure you’re living in the light of the seven and all that jazz. Cersei is worried they’ll be able to tell she’s pregnant, so she’s sending me with Brienne.”

“How’s that work? Won’t they notice when you show up with a different bride?”

“Nah, it’s not the same guy. The High Septon doesn’t have time to meet with every couple that comes through the sept to get married. This is just some little foot soldier. As long as we seem like good sept-going people, it’ll be fine. Anybody could show up really, it’s not like they check.”

Stannis blinked. And then he smirked. Anybody.

“That gives me an idea,” he said casually. “It seems so silly for you and Brienne to come all this way to King’s Landing when you’re both in Oldtown. Why don’t I take Melisandre?”

“Really? You’d do that?!”

“I would be delighted to assist.”

“Wow that’s… huge. You’re such a good brother. I don’t think you’ve ever let me down in your whole life.”

Stannis shifted uncomfortably.

“Well let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious! I would trust you with my life. You would never deliberately screw me over and there’s not many people in the world I can say that about.”

Stannis was having an acute pain somewhere in his gut. He wondered if this was acid reflux.

“I would certainly always act in your best interest,” he managed finally. His gut uncurled slightly.

“No it’s more than that. You always keep your word to the letter,” Robert continued blithely. The stomach ache intensified. “If you give me your word that you’ll go the High Sept and impress the deacon, I know you’ll do it.”

“Eh,” Stannis managed, clutching his side.

“So I have your word that it’s done? I can’t afford something like today’s mix up happening on Sunday!”

Stannis sat heavily, bringing his knees to his chest.

“Stannis, I have your word right?”

There was no helping it.

“Yes,” Stannis managed. He wondered if it was too late to get Davos to take him to the hospital.


	15. Melisandre (What Have You Done 6 of 8)

Melisandre did not do weddings. She just... didn’t. She hadn’t liked weddings at the red temple, which were simple hand-tying ceremonies followed by a jump over a pit of coals. She didn’t like weddings, but if you were going to have a wedding, that’s how a wedding should be. Just a pledge of love before R’hllor and maybe a little fire. But even back then, when she had been going to temple, she had felt suspicious of all the guests, the dress, the ring. 

It felt performative. Like love wasn’t love unless all your friends and family saw you declaring it. It felt ostentatious, with the five thousand dollar dress that you’d wear once. It felt... fake.

And this wedding, this Frankenstein horror of white lace and pink tulle, was everything that was terrible about weddings rolled into one. Weddings under the faith of the seven already were especially irritating. Melisandre didn’t think it was crazy to point out how completely sexist and archaic the concept of a father giving away his daughter to take on her husband’s family name was. Sure, why not treat an adult woman as chattel? And don’t even get her started on the vows. The woman was supposed to love, cherish and OBEY?!?! Get a fucking dog.

Then add in Cersei, for whom the ostentatious and performative aspects of the wedding were the whole point. 

Then add in the part where Stannis was plotting behind her back, thus undoing literally six years of working on their communication issues together.

Then add in... whatever this was.

Cersei delicately put a bite of red velvet cake with vanilla frosting in her mouth. She chewed, an expression of concentration on her face. Then she spat, into the bucket held by the Crossroads Inn pastry chef’s assistant.

“Too moist. The cake overpowers the frosting,” she announced. The chef and his assistant and the owner of the Crossroads Inn all nodded gravely. Melisandre looked out the window.

“Are you getting this down, Melisandre?!” Cersei snapped. With a sigh, Melisandre produced her notebook.

“Sample 63: Too moist. Frosting overpowered,” she read dully.

Cersei nodded in satisfaction, previous equanimity restored. She took a swish of her sparkling apple cider to cleanse her palette and waved an imperious hand for the next sample.

But the worst part of this whole wedding nonsense, hands down, was her involvement. It had been a terrible confluence of needing to beat Stannis at his own game and needing to save Brienne from her silly self-effacing self. And now, she was watching as Cersei took a mere sniff of carrot-cake before bellowing “NEXT!”

Sample 64: Carrot-cake.

The dreary fact was that Melisandre was the only bridesmaid in King’s Landing. There were good, sensible reasons that she should be shouldering some of this burden. At least if she didn’t want Cersei Lannister, Queen of the World, to pitch a fit and ban her from the wedding. Cake tasting, at the time, had seemed like a low-key, even fun activity to choose. But she didn’t even get to try the samples!!

Cersei spit a piece of what looked like German chocolate cake into the bin.

“Too rich!”

Sample 65: Too rich.

“I think I’ll do four layers, each with a different flavor,” Cersei said to Melisandre as Melisandre carefully drove them both back to her apartment.

“The largest base layer will be vanilla and vanilla cream icing. Simple, elegant, and it will taste completely boring. I can give it to the second tier wedding guests and anyone who has displease me,” Cersei turned the rear view mirror so she could fluff her hair.

Melisandre turned the rear view mirror back to its original position.

“The second layer will be that devil’s deluxe chocolate with the sea salt sprinkles,” Cersei continued, ignoring her entirely.

Melisandre tuned out the discussion of the third and fourth layer, idly wondering what she would have for dinner. And what Stannis would not be having for dinner. Let’s see how he liked fending for himself when he got home from the office.

She pulled into her parking garage. She had gotten into the service elevator, gotten out on her floor, walked down the hallway and had her key in the lock before she realized that Cersei was still trailing after her, wondering where she could get a tiny bride and groom of spun sugar perfectly modeled on her and Robert. 

Melisandre grudgingly let her in, while fantasizing about biting the head off a tiny spun sugar bride perfectly modeled on Cersei Lannister.

“This is nice,” Cersei looked around their lofted apartment. “It will be so easy to child proof when you and Stannis get married.”

Melisandre schooled her features into a smooth blankness so that she wouldn’t flinch at Cersei’s remarks. She hated weddings.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” Melisandre said politely to change the subject. Unfortunately that meant Cersei pursing her lips over every streak of dust—“you should just get a housekeeper, that’s what I do”—and shaking her head over every pot in the sink—“you don’t have a chef?!”—and even the box that the tv had come from that she hadn’t bothered to ever move out of their bedroom—“really it’s an empty box, I’ll move it myself.”

It was as Cersei accomplished the latter task that Stannis came in. Melisandre took some dark joy in the expression of frozen outrage when he spotted her.

“Stannis, don’t mind us. We’re just doing some wedding prep,” Melisandre slid her arm around Cersei’s waist. Cersei beamed at her. “You know how excited I am about the wedding!” Melisandre added, just to twist the knife.

“Excuse me... I... I forgot something at the office,” Stannis muttered, looking like he might puke. He hurried back out the door.

“Melisandre, I’m touched,” Cersei said. “You know, maybe this is silly, but I always got the sense that you didn’t like me very much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melisandre said weakly.

“And you seemed very unenthused about the wedding,” Cersei continued.

“Nothing to do with you,” Melisandre said, this time truthfully.

“I suppose it is silly. Well I’m glad to share this moment with you,” Cersei squeezed her into a hug. Melisandre went stiff. She didn’t do hugs. “It’s nice to have another friend I can trust.”

“Well off you go,” Melisandre gently disentangled herself. “I’d hate for you to hit the rush hour traffic getting out of here.”

“Oh so true,” Cersei dropped the tender act briskly. “Let’s circle up regarding the final menu. Toodles.”

And she was gone.

Melisandre went to the freezer and got out a pint of ice cream. She proceeded to collapse on the couch. 

She was still there when Stannis came back several hours later.

“Is she gone?” He asked abruptly.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow at him, and took another spoonful of ice cream.

“You’re being so childish, just tell me what’s wrong,” he huffed.

Like he didn’t know exactly what was wrong.

After a brief staring contest, Stannis looked away.

“I signed us up for some more wedding duties,” he said stiffly.

What?

“What?” She said, ice cream forgotten.

“Well you did say you were so excited about it,” Stannis said in a faux innocent voice that wouldn’t have fooled Robert.

“What are we doing?” She growled.

“Pretending to be Robert and Cersei to meet with a deacon at the High Sept of Baelor this weekend,” Stannis shrugged.

Huh. Obviously he was planning something, but this sounded kind of innocuous? 

“You know it would be highly unethical to volunteer to help, and then use that opportunity to mess up this wedding,” Melisandre pointed out.

Stannis took a deep breath.

“As a matter of fact, I do. So let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Melisandre inquired suspiciously.

“You’ll do all the talking,” Stannis said.

Melisandre considered. If there was a trap here, she wasn’t seeing it. What better way to make sure Stannis behaved?

“Deal,” she said firmly. And caught just the tiniest glint of triumph in his eye.

Honestly, between her job at the research lab and staying mad at Stannis and putting up with Cersei’s incessant wedding related chatter, she kind of forgot about it. The engagement party was coming up, and Cersei had been doing her level best to drum up the publicity to an unbearable level. Some tidbit of news about the wedding was front page of the Daily Ravyn every day—Melisandre could only imagine what strings Cersei was pulling with Varys to make that happen. She’d given the exclusive engagement party coverage rights to Agora (but confided that both Varys and Petyr Baelish had been invited as guests, so if they happened to snap a photo or two or write about their own experiences, it was hardly her fault). 

She’d even had that thrice damned advertisement for Storms Ending Summer Camps playing non-stop every day. It was bad enough that the jingle at the end was unbearable catchy. Melisandre had found herself humming it in the shower. Much worse was the uncomfortable realization that in a certain light, her brother’s boyfriend might actually be... hot? 

Which was terrible! It was BERIC. He was shy and awkward and if he and Thoros were doing anything, it was like holding hands or cuddling or something. That’s how Melisandre preferred to think about it anyway, and any intrusion upon that world view was most unwelcome. 

And don’t even get her started on the invitation to the engagement party. It had come in a package, and Melisandre had immediately gotten excited, because who doesn’t love surprise packages? She’d opened the package and inside was a beautiful carved wooden box. She’d opened the box, and some kind of trigger activated a song—a music box? It was a jaunty little ditty, and the box was full of sandalwood shavings that smelled heavenly. There had been a scroll in the shavings and she had plucked it out with some curiosity. Only to discover with horror that it had been sealed in red wax with a golden lion etched in the center.

Grimly, she had grabbed a letter opener and given the lion a sharp thrust to the heart.

In perfect calligraphy, she had been invited to a party at Casterly Rock to celebrate the engagement of Miss Cersei Joanna Lannister to Mr. Robert Orys Baratheon. The party was naturally on the weekend of Westeros’ national heritage day—so like Cersei to claim a long weekend when everybody might have better things they wanted to do, when the price of flights would naturally be higher and... Melisandre had suddenly realized that the tune was in fact a remixed version of “Rains of Castamere”, a folk song long associated with the Lannister family. With a shudder of horror she had slammed the box shut. Only to see that the wooden carvings which she had dimly registered initially were a border of intertwining lions and stags. Melisandre had hissed and shoved the box away.

So yes, with the lead up to the engagement party on top of everything else, it might have slipped her mind that Stannis had uncharacteristically volunteered them for this sept thing.

Slipped her mind, that was, until Stannis unceremoniously shook her awake at 8am on a Sunday morning.

“It’s the weekend!!” Melisandre groaned and snuggled deeper.

“We’ll be late to the High Sept,” Stannis said patiently. “I mean that’s fine with me...”

“Ugh no, I’m getting up,” Melisandre sighed. Then it turned out she didn’t really have any sept appropriate clothing. She ended up using one of her work outfits, and then putting a sweater on over that and then buttoning it to the top just to be safe.

Stannis frowned when he saw her outfit.

Melisandre blinked.

“Were you expecting me to go to the Sept in one of my red dresses?” She asked slowly.

“No!” Stannis said, but his gaze skittered away from her. 

Melisandre brushed a bit of lint of this sweater, which she hadn’t worn in the lord knew how long.

“Are you expecting me to tank this meeting?” She scowled. That was totally it, wasn’t it?! He thought she was going to be all fire and brimstone and salt and smoke and get Robert and Cersei kicked out of the sept!

“No,” Stannis repeated, still staring out the window.

“Good,” Melisandre bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Because I’m not going to.”

A promise that was perhaps easier said than done.

As VIPs, they were ushered first through the Great Sept itself, then through a series of gardens and courtyards and shrines to various aspects of the Seven, then, standing before a small unassuming door, they were asked to wait in an alcove with a beatific Maiden statue.

Melisandre scowled at its vacuous expression. Each successive space, overflowing with opulence and the kind of wealth that could be working to improve the lives of the faithful rather than smother their senses in unthinking awe, had left her in a worse mood.

It was quite different from the spartan halls of the Red Temple, and Melisandre felt a nostalgic ache for the smoky steps in High Hill. She and Thoros had left their temple on bad terms (well Thoros had been thrown out and she had left), but it didn’t mean that she didn’t miss it.

In contrast, here she was standing in front of a marble statue of a simpering Maiden some fourteen feet tall, clutching some kind of fabric in a strange pretense of modesty from what was an undeniably erotic piece of art. This is exactly what was wrong with the Seven, Melisandre sniffed. It fetishized and sexualized purity and demonized sex. You were an innocent, a mother or a witch. Those were your options. Melisandre would choose witch every time.

The door opened, and Melisandre pasted a demure smile on her face. 

Except this time.

“Welcome my children, I’m Brother Ray,” the deacon beamed at them, and Melisandre fought not to roll her eyes.

He ushered them into a cozy room that had been furnished like a study, taking a seat in a plush armchair and waving a hand at the couch across from him. Melisandre sat, smoothing her skirt carefully, and Stannis followed suit.

“The online process is just so impersonal. We felt it was important to spend at least one afternoon getting to know you as people,” he gave a saccharine smile. “We just want to make sure it’s a good fit.”

We just want to make sure you conform to our oppressive, gendered and outdated mold, Melisandre snarked to herself.

“Of course,” she said instead, and tried to give a little laugh like Cersei did. When the deacon looked alarmed, she turned it into a cough.

“I like to start with a brief opening prayer,” Brother Ray said, leaning forward to take both their hands. Melisandre shot a glare at Stannis, who seemed unphased by this kumbaya shit.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” Brother Ray began, his eyes shut and oblivious to them both. I can do this, Melisandre told herself firmly, screwing her own eyes closed and trying to block out his earnest appeal for wisdom, patience, love and laughter for the two young people before him. Just sit here with my eyes closed, and it’ll all be over.

The deacon withdrew his hand. 

“Are you frequent sept-goers?” Brother Ray asked Stannis, and Melisandre opened her eyes to see them both looking at her bemusedly. Fuck, the prayers at temple were usually MUCH longer. 

“She’s really the religious one,” Stannis squeezed her shoulders.

R’hllorites didn’t believe in hell, but maybe she could make an exception for Stannis.

“And you Miss Lannister? Do you attend sept often?”

“Every Sunday,” Melisandre answered stoically.

“How would you say the Seven guide you in your every day life?”

Melisandre felt her mind blank out. This was like one of those nightmares she used to have in school about taking a test she hadn’t studied for. That was, if the test was also on principles that she loathed with every fiber of her being.

“Well... I pray to the Maiden, obviously,” Melisandre finally blurted. 

“Do you? What do you pray for?” The deacon asked mildly.

“Ummm, protection? From... from... temptation!”

“Temptation? Like...” the deacon prodded.

“Sex! And um, lustful thoughts?”

Beside her, Stannis snorted. Ass.

“So you’re a virgin?” The deacon inquired.

“Of course,” Melisandre said through gritted teeth, kicking Stannis sharply in the ankle.

“My, that’s rather unusual in this day and age,” the deacon frowned. What?! Wasn’t that what she was supposed to say?

“I’m just... rather old-school in my beliefs,” Melisandre managed.

“And you?” The deacon turned to Stannis.

“I hadn’t had any sexual relations before we met,” Stannis replied, an answer which managed to be both literally truthful and situationally appropriate. Show-off.

“And have the two of you discussed family planning?” The deacon asked.

The ensuing lecture on remedial sexual education left even Stannis blushing. Melisandre FULLY believed in body positivity as much as the next person, but there was something about being encouraged to explore an anatomically correct model of the vagina by a man who went by Brother Ray that left her thinking celibacy was underrated.

Finally, they were off that topic. Thank the lord. 

“Now let’s discuss healthy conflict resolution,” Brother Ray beamed.

Shit.

“Open communication is key to any relationship,” Ray began.

“So keeping secrets would be bad,” Melisandre said sweetly.

“Or being passive-aggressive,” Stannis glared back at her.

How about just aggressive? Melisandre thought as she narrowed her eyes.

“I love how you’re engaging with this material,” Brother Ray piped in. “Now why don’t we try some role play. Robert, why don’t you pretend to be Cersei. I’m going to give you some criticism, and I want you to react as Cersei would.”

He cleared his throat.

“Cersei, it’s your turn to take out the garbage and I’m frustrated that you keep putting it off.”

Stannis crossed his arms and sat silently.

First, that was a terrible Cersei impression. Second it was an even worse Melisandre impression! She didn’t just launch into silent treatment when she was in the wrong, this was clearly when she was in the right and Stannis was being a frustrating asshat! He had failed at communicating first! She was just giving him a taste of her own medicine!

“So you’re saying Cersei shuts down,” Brother Ray leaned forward. “Cersei, what would you say to that?”

“Robert knows why I haven’t been taking out the garbage,” Melisandre growled. “It’s because he’s keeping a secret from me even though the last time he did that, things got really out of control and he ended up in the hospital.”

“Okay but first it’s not really a secret if you know about it—“

“IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and second it’s not that kind of secret and you know it—“

“AGAIN IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and third you’ll just yell at me!”

“Okay well why don’t we talk about yelling,” Brother Ray interjected hastily. “It’s important when resolving conflict for each party to feel heard. I want you both to start by paraphrasing the other’s point, leading with ‘I appreciate that you feel...’ and going from there. Robert?”

Stannis didn’t respond. Melisandre kicked him.

“Oh right! Ahem, CERSEI, I appreciate that you feel worried about me when I keep secrets. That it... hurts your feelings,” Stannis swallowed. “Please know that it was never my intention. I just knew you wouldn’t approve and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Huh. Okay maybe Brother Ray wasn’t a total waste.

“Robert,” Melisandre began, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate that you get frustrated when I won’t talk to you. Because... because you love me and it makes you feel shut out. And I only get so frustrated because I love you too.”

Stannis squeezed her hand. Melisandre swallowed.

“Wow, really well done,” Brother Ray nodded his head enthusiastically. “Okay, I admit I had some doubts initially, but I think we’re done here.”

“Done?” Melisandre frowned.

“Yes, I think the two of you are ready to get married,” the deacon stood. He shook Stannis’ head firmly, and as Melisandre reeled, he pulled her into a hearty hug. 

She didn’t want to get married. She hated marriage!! How could stupid Brother Ray possibly think that she of all people was READY FOR MARRIAGE?!

They exited the Sept complex in kind of a daze. They didn’t speak to each other at all until they got back to Stannis’ car and sat. Automatically, Stannis locked the doors.

“I meant what I said back there,” he said quietly. Melisandre took a deep breath, and resolutely quashed the all consuming terror that Brother Ray had unleashed upon her. Focus on them. Their issues. One thing at a time.

“I meant what I said too.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“A little mad. But Stannis—I need you to call Jaime Lannister up right now and tell him you’re done with this. Please—I don’t know how much more wedding warfare I can take,” Melisandre said, trying to hold his gaze.

“You... might be right,” Stannis sighed heavily. “I just don’t want Robert to throw his life away on this. She’s not really pregnant!”

Melisandre massaged her temples.

“I assure you, she really really is,” she ground out. “Now call Jaime. On speaker.”

Stannis huffed, but did as she commanded.

“How did the High Sept go?” Jaime asked immediately. 

“There was an issue,” Stannis scowled. 

“...being?”

“That it went really well. The deacon assures us we’re ready to get married.” 

Melisandre shivered.

“How very nice for you,” Jaime sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any more bright ideas?”

“As a matter of fact I don’t,” Stannis looked over at Melisandre. “I’m done.”

“Wait wait wait.... you don’t mean...”

“I’m out,” he said firmly. Melisandre gave him a small smile. She hoped Jaime wasn’t too upset.

“I should have known,” Jaime drawled.

Okay, not upset.

“Excuse me?!” Stannis sputtered.

“It’s just like you to give up when things get hard! This is exactly like when we tried to stop the mayor!”

“I GOT SHOT!!!”

“I’m disappointed in you, Baratheon. Melisandre got to you didn’t she?!”

“I’m evaluating my priorities,” Stannis growled. “Much as I believe you did in your interaction with Ellyn Tarbeck.”

“Hey!”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“FINE! Well I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

“What? Are you going to call Robert and tell him I won’t help you break up his wedding anymore?” Stannis rolled his eyes.

“I’m activating my fail-safe. Just remember, you brought this on yourself.”

“If you had a secret atom bomb that would nuke this wedding, I think you would have dropped it by now,” Stannis said suspiciously.

“Maybe I was worried about collateral damage. And maybe I was holding back. But I’m not so worried any more,” Jaime growled.

“You’re bluffing,” Stannis scoffed.

“I assure you I’m not,” Jaime replied evenly. “But I suppose you’ll find out. See you at the engagement party.”

He hung up.

Melisandre and Stannis sat staring at his cell.

Why did she feel like things had not improved?


	16. Thoros (What Have You Done 7 of 8)

Thoros got to the bar early, as it was his turn to open. Honestly, he was a little relieved that he could go to his full-time job and just get a break from thinking about the hit his finances were going to take from this stag party, keeping Beric from having a nervous breakdown over that commercial and where he was going to find time and room in his budget to rent a tuxedo (naturally the engagement party was black tie... like everyone just had tuxedos lying around?!).

No sooner had he opened the bar than Jenny Oldstones and her grandmother appeared. He would have called it spooky timing, except Jenny had been basically stalking him to get closer to the love of her life. Which was great. She was a good kid. He just wished she had chosen someone more age-appropriate to have a crush on. Who didn’t happen to be his boyfriend.

“Ember,” the old woman beamed at him. Thoros gave a gallant bow back and she laughed. She always claimed he smelled of smoke, and he had learned to just play along.

“Wood witch!” He tossed her the keys and she made them disappear.

“C’mon gran, he isn’t here yet,” Jenny whispered, tugging her toward the door to their apartment above.

“Um actually, Mrs. Oldstones, may I have a word?” Thoros asked.

She lingered as her daughter retreated with a wave.

“I’ve worked here part time for three years and full time now for another three, and I was hoping I could get a raise,” Thoros said, holding his breath.

“I see two stags running with a wolf and a viper,” the tiny gnarled woman said wisely. “There’s a fat flower and lightning and I see you too. Not a lion in sight, but lions are far-seeing.”

“Um okay,” Thoros blinked. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a no,” she patted his hand. “But I’ll give you time off.”

The door swung behind her and Thoros sighed. He wondered if Dorne would take IOUs. Maybe he could just show up with a huge handful of paper notes and hand them out everywhere they went. That would be fine right?

With a snort at the image, he started unloading the clean glasses. Maybe he’d get lucky on tips. Sure a lot of the students didn’t bother, but classes at the Citadel had finished last week and they were due to see some tourist traffic. Probably the very next person to walk into this bar would be some heavy drinking heavy tipping out of towner.

The door swung open and Thoros looked up expectantly.

Oberyn Martell strolled in.

Fuck. Well two out of three was a start.

“What do you want?” Thoros said suspiciously.

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend,” Oberyn grinned.

“You’re just here for the free drinks,” Thoros sighed.

“Yup, got twenty minutes to kill before a date.”

“Aren’t you here visiting your daughter?” 

“Can’t a man do both?”

“Apparently,” Thoros had to laugh and poured Oberyn one of the dry Dornish ciders they had on tap.

“Getting excited for the Water Gardens?” Oberyn asked cheerfully. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried the Dornish spiced wine.”

“I can’t believe your brother has a summer palace,” Thoros said. Sometimes he forgot that while Beric’s parents were pretty wealthy, Robert and most of his other friends were like astronomically wealthy. 

“I can’t believe he’s letting us use it,” Oberyn gave a languid shrug. “He doesn’t typically trust me.”

“I wonder why,” Thoros said drily. 

“Is that any way to speak to the guy who rescued you from faking a coma to get out of the stag party?” Oberyn shook his head.

“Ned told you?!” Thoros groaned.

“I guessed. But you’re sorted now right?”

“Just need the money to pay for this rental tux, and then the restaurants in Dorne, and then the stupid morning suits and pink pocket squares Cersei wants us to wear,” Thoros rubbed his temples. “And nobody fucking tips around here,” he shot Oberyn a meaningful glare which he ignored. “But I’m the bartender, aren’t you supposed to be telling me your problems?”

“I’m worried about Mace,” Oberyn sighed. “Ever since he knocked up that Alerie Hightower in college, he’s been a nervous wreck. He was plucked before his prime, Thoros. He never got a chance to bloom.”

“We can’t all have two children with two mothers on two continents,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Three,” Oberyn said with some modesty. “A septa in Gulltown.”

“No!” 

“I was just trying to confess but I’m afraid she took it as an invitation,” a smile twitched across Oberyn’s face.

Thoros topped off Oberyn’s glass and poured one for himself to toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Beric came in, still wearing his suit from his summer internship at the courthouse and looking a little woeful.

“Oberyn’s a dad! Again!” Thoros laughed.

“Third time’s charmed,” Beric patted Oberyn on the back. Then he swiped Thoros’ glass and drained it.

“What’s wrong?” Thoros frowned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric said miserably.

“See this is why I don’t use social media,” Thoros replied patiently. Suddenly, they heard someone running down the staircase at the far side of the bar.

“Hide me!!” Beric blurted, his one eye huge.

Thoros sighed and let him around the back of the bar, where he crawled into the space normally occupied by the garbage bin, dragging the bin back in after him.

Jenny burst into the bar panting slightly.

“Hi!” She said to Oberyn, her face abruptly falling when she realized he wasn’t who she thought he was.

“Hello,” Oberyn put his phone away and gave her a smirk. Thoros smacked him in the back of the head.

“I thought I saw your roommate come in from the window upstairs,” she mumbled to Thoros. (Thoros hadn’t had the heart to embarrass her by breaking the news of their relationship yet.)

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Oberyn said smoothly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Thoros was reaching to hit him again when Jenny saved him the trouble.

“Gross, I’m fifteen, old man. Now get lost, PERV!”

She stomped out.

Thoros tried to swallow his laugh. From Oberyn’s glare, not very successfully.

“Is she gone?” Beric whispered from behind the garbage.

“What in the seven hells is going on?!” Oberyn said slowly. “Since when does Beric have more game than me?!”

“You haven’t seen the commercial?” Thoros asked, dragging the garbage out. “Coast is clear,” he nudged Beric with his foot.

Beric emerged looking sheepish.

“With him and Robert? How could I miss it,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“It’s made him irresistible, but only to young women,” Thoros grinned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric repeated, shoving his phone in Oberyn’s face. Oberyn inspected it.

“#oneeyedhottie,” he read. Then he smirked.

“Hey Beric, while you’re back there, can you get me a bottle of that good tequila? The one Thoros can’t reach?!”

“I’m taller than you!” Thoros growled at Oberyn. 

“No problem,” Beric meanwhile said politely, reaching up to get it. Oberyn lifted his phone and snapped a photo.

“Hey what—“ Beric turned back flustered on hearing the sound.

“#oneeyedhottie tends bar at #highheart,” Oberyn narrated as he typed in his phone, fending off Beric with one arm at the same time. There was a whooshing sound as he uploaded the photo. 

“What in the seven hells?!” Beric snapped.

“Yeah, Oberyn, what gives,” Thoros frowned. 

Sure he did kind of think it was good for Beric to internalize that not everybody just saw him as an eye-patch with scars, but Oberyn wasn’t the one that had to lure him out of the apartment every day.

“I’m solving your tipping problem,” Oberyn yawned. “Do you have a sharpie?”

“Here,” Thoros handed it over. Oberyn wrote ‘TIPS’ on one of the now empty cups.

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” Thoros snarked.

“Not the cup idiot. Beric. His many female admirers will come flocking to the bar to be served by him, and I’m sure they’ll be eager to impress.”

“First, they would be Beric’s tips not mine. Second, did it ever occur to you that maybe he doesn’t want to do this?”

“I’ll do it,” Beric said immediately.

Thoros turned and Beric blushed.

“I just... I know it’s been an expensive summer and you’re worried about it. And this is mortifying already, why shouldn’t we get some tips out of it? Plus I can’t actually make the drinks you know. I’m just handing them to people. It’s your money.”

Thoros considered.

“We’ll split it. If it works.”

“My post has... four hundred and sixteen likes,” Oberyn checked his phone. “It’s been less than two minutes.”

Beric gave Thoros a weak smile.

“Well as always, the pleasure has been all yours,” Oberyn winked and strolled out.

Thoros and Beric looked at each other. From the far end of the bar, there was the sound of someone running down the stairs.

“Hi Jenny,” Beric said politely.

“Ohmygoshareyoutendingbartonight?!?! That’s so cool!!”

“Do you want a ginger ale or something?”

“Sure!” Jenny beamed at him, and stuck a dollar in the jar.

The bar was two-deep with mostly legal customers and Thoros felt serenely happy. He’d had to empty the tip jar twice. Oberyn might make a lot of trouble, but he wasn’t such a bad guy, Thoros decided. Also life was great. Beric was stammering and blushing his way through flirting with the customers and it was adorable. Plus this meant he’d be around when the bar closed. And Thoros could think of plenty of ways for Beric to... help him close the bar down. Heh. Nope, nothing could ruin this night.

Jaime Lannister walked into the bar.

Thoros mentally facepalmed and continued making the cosmo-tini a sorority girl had just ordered with renewed focus. If you don’t make eye contact, he probably won’t even notice you, he told himself as he twisted a lime peel. 

Jaime arched an eyebrow at the crowd surrounding Beric and instead made a beeline to the stool across the bar from where Thoros was working. 

Thoros kept his head bent to the task at hand, emptying another container of cranberry juice. Had they ever run out of cranberry juice before?

Jaime cleared his throat.

Thoros arced the cranberry juice into the recycling bin, and then bent down into the fridge to see if there was any more. 

“Hey! Asshai!” Jaime yelled.

Oh! There it was in the back. Thoros started to reach in, only for someone to grab his top-knot and pull. Hard.

“What can I get you?” Thoros asked glaring and rubbing the top of his head.

“A fucking miracle,” Jaime huffed.

“Not on the menu,” Thoros gave an apathetic shrug. Great, another non-tipper.

“Of course you can’t help,” Jaime sulked, slouching deeper on his stool. “How could anyone understand what it’s like to have a sister that you would DO ANYTHING for, and have to watch her throw her life away on someone who’s not nearly good enough?!”

Thoros blinked.

“And the worst part of it is that she’s so friggin’ vicious when she gets mad! I can’t even tell her he sucks to her face! She would just marry him out of spite!”

Thoros sighed and poured him a beer.

“Nobody understands me,” Jaime sulked. He took the beer absent-mindedly without acknowledging it in the slightest.

“I need a fail-safe plan. Do you have a fail-safe plan?”

“Run away and live in the woods,” Thoros said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you don’t have a fail-safe plan. How could you? How could anybody have a plan to stop this disaster of a wedding?”

Thoros finished the next drink and passed it to Beric, who gave him a bemused smile as a girl wrote her number on a cocktail napkin. He really REALLY couldn’t wait until everybody left.

“If Cersei can’t ruin this wedding with her unreasonably high expectations, and Robert can’t ruin this wedding with his laziness, WHO WILL RUIN THIS WEDDING?!” Jaime demanded the moment he returned, waving his empty glass for emphasis.

Thoros yoinked the glass from his grip before he could break it and refilled it for him. He tried to be polite and neutral through the ensuing six hours as Jaime proposed increasingly absurd and/or illegal solutions to this disaster, including but not limited to burning down the High Sept with wildfire.

“I shouldn’t have threatened Stannis with a nuclear option when I didn’t have a nuclear option,” Jaime groaned, feebly pushing his glass toward Thoros. “Now I need to find a plan that ruins the wedding AND sticks it to Stannis.”

Thoros had been considering charging him for this drink but decided not to. Maybe that would teach the crazy old bat to give hard-working loyal employees the raises they deserved.

He refilled, and pushed it back.

“Thoros,” Beric whispered. “They keep ordering sex on the beach and winking! What do I do?!”

“Wink back?” Thoros teased. Beric glared.

“First, people with one eye can’t wink. Second, I’m doing this for you, you know.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful, my lord,” Thoros ruffled his hair. “I will make the cocktails, you just focus on survival.”

“It’s easy for you to say!” Beric snarked, but he leaned into Thoros’ hand anyway. “They’re completely besotted. It’s worse than ever!”

“It’s the bartender effect,” Thoros said wisely. “Everyone is hotter behind the bar. It’s magnifying your already dangerous levels of the hotness.”

“I don’t have dangerous levels of hotness!” Beric stammered, loosening his tie. There was a thud as a girl fainted.

Beric flushed.

“I need an exit strategy.”

“Don’t we all,” Jaime sighed, abruptly joining the conversation.

“You be quiet,” Thoros said sternly. “Your thing is completely different. Beric, you do a last call. I’ll hit the lights and you can duck under the bar. Then I’ll say you went out the back.”

Jaime rested his head on the bar and poked at the ‘TIPS’ cup that needed to be emptied once more. 

“You’re just smug because Oberyn solved your money problems with the whole Water Gardens thing. And pimping out your boyfriend on Ravengram.”

“How do YOU know about my money problems?!” Thoros growled. 

“Do you have to put it that way?!” Beric called over his shoulder as he tried to signed a girl’s very tight t-shirt without actually making contact with any part of her.

“Oberyn said something about it in bed with Ned and Robert,” Jaime yawned. “And yes I do,” he turned to look at Beric.

“This is the last call!” Beric raised his voice while glaring at Jaime.

They managed to refill their ‘TIPS’ cup one more time before Thoros obediently hit the lights. And poof, Beric had disappeared. It was like magic, if magic involved his boyfriend once more cowering behind the garbage.

“I think he went out the back!” Thoros exclaimed in a shocked voice when the lights came back on. There was a general stampede, and as he hung the ‘Closed’ sign, Thoros let himself imagine a perfectly empty bar with just him and Beric.

The dust cleared.

Jaime Lannister was still perched on his stool, the very last customer.

Thoros scowled.

“I said last call Lannister. Don’t you have a girlfriend to visit or something?”

“I am not moving from this stool until the answer to my problems comes walking through that door,” Jaime said stubbornly, shoving the glass at him.

Thoros gritted his teeth and began to fill it, resolving to DEFINITELY charge him for this one, when the door opened.

Jaime and Thoros both turned to stare. Even Beric furtively popped his head out.

Ned Stark came shuffling in.

Jaime began to bang his head on the bar.

Thoros considered joining him. He had closed the bar! He had hung the sign and everything! Why were people still here?! It was supposed to just be him and Beric!!!

“It’s last call,” Thoros said to Ned, trying to be polite.

“I hate you, now leave,” Jaime added, not trying to be polite.

“I got a text from Jon Arryn,” Ned said in a hollow voice, ignoring them both and collapsing onto a stool.

“Our Lit teacher from high school?” Thoros frowned. Weird. He avoided contact with teachers as a rule.

“He’s like a second dad to me,” Ned said dully. “He’s in the Summer Islands this week, and he’s friends with Hoster Tully so they had drinks. Hoster tried to set him up with Cat! He said our marriage is on the rocks and if Jon had any interest he could arrange a date.”

Ugh fine. Thoros poured him a glass of beer too.

Ned took a long swig.

“Her father is trying to ruin our marriage!! And I know she can think for herself, but she places way too much importance on his opinion and I’m getting super freaked out!”

Jaime had straightened and was looking at Ned blankly.

“If her father demanded she dump me, would she do it??” Ned asked the world at large.

“Why would he ask? The whole marriage was his idea,” Jaime mumbled to himself.

Thoros started to tell Jaime to stop talking about his thing, that it was Ned’s turn, but Ned got there first.

“Her father hates me! And Jon Arryn’s his best friend! Like from childhood!”

Jaime opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. A slow smile was spreading over his face.

“It’s brilliant,” he whispered, and Thoros felt the back of his neck prickle with a sense of foreboding.

“Stark, c’mon. It’s late and we’ve gotta get back to Robert’s,” Jaime straightened and slung an arm over Ned’s shoulders.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Thoros heard Ned ask as Jaime ushered him out of the bar.

Thoros noted that neither had bothered to tip. His friends were assholes.

“Is it safe?” Beric asked, looking sheepish as he emerged.

Well, except for one.

“Just you and me,” Thoros drawled and Beric blushed. What to do, what to do, what to do…

That weird feeling of foreboding hadn’t really gone away, but Thoros resolutely ignored it as he hopped up on the bar and grabbed Beric’s tie to pull him closer. Not his problem. And really, what was the worst Jaime could do?


	17. Cersei (What Have You Done 8 of 8)

Cersei was power walking on the treadmill with the incline set to high. Toning her legs and lifting her rumpus with minimum impact on the joints or the biscuit. She was determined that the only thing that would outshine her custom one-of-a-kind wedding dress would be how hot she looked in it.

Next to her, Brienne was running with long loping strides, her face a blotchy red and sweaty. Cersei considered turning her speed down as a favor, but strangely Brienne seemed to enjoy looking like a hot mess.

Brienne really had been a lifesaver. Once they’d put the awkwardness of her having some unresolved feelings about Robert behind them, everything had been great. She had even taken over liasing with the wedding photographer from Robert, and had volunteered to drive out to King’s Landing with Cersei for the second round of cake testing when Melisandre’s schedule had gotten too busy.

Automatically, Cersei checked her phone, as she always did now when she thought of the wedding. She was expecting an email from the artistic director of Vogue, who she’d managed to connect with through a friend of a friend of a friend. 

As her inbox popped up, she gasped and nearly fell off the treadmill. There it was! The moment she’d been waiting for!

She paused the treadmill and hopped off, going over to her gym’s smoothie bar and getting a lemon water spritzer. 

She took a sip and opened the email.

_Dear Miss Lannister,_

_Thank you for your interest and congratulations on your coming nuptials! As I am sure you can appreciate, the feature spreads in our issues are planned years in advance. Given the logistical difficulties and the lack of synergy in our brands, we feel that coverage at this late hour is simply not feasible. We wish you all the best..._

Cersei spewed her spritzer across the pink marble counter. Her knuckles tightened around the phone in white hot rage. Lack of synergy in brands?!?! Her brand was universal! She wasn’t an influencer, she was inspiration itself! She was beauty, she was health, she was fitness, she was interior design and fashion and film and society and... she realized with some alarm that she was on the verge of tears. This would not do. She would be in Vogue. She would break them if it was the last thing she did.

She coldly turned off her phone and spun on her heel, walking back into the gym. Calves, thighs, butt. What was next? Arms. Arms were next. Her eyes fell upon a vacant speed bag.

She moved over to the small punching bag dreamily, and gave it a good thwak. It came flying back immediately and she hit it again. And again. Wasn’t it enough that she’d donated hundreds of thousands of dragons in advertising to the magazine?! She’d asked Varys, she’d asked Petyr, she was using Vogue approved caterers and florists and videographers. She’d completely rehabbed Robert’s image, all of her polls showed that he led the professional football league in both name recognition and likeability. (Just not wins, her inner Jaime noted sourly.) And now she was paying through the nose on that Tarbeck woman! How dare they say she wasn’t good enough?! How dare they say no to her?! She’d called sorority sisters and besotted exes. She’d begged and bribed and cajoled and threatened. Why was this still so elusive?! WHY?!

“Cersei?” Brienne said timidly.

Cersei paused, panting slightly.

“Are you okay?” Brienne asked tentatively.

“Of course,” Cersei flipped her hair. “I’m working out my arms. My dress is sleeveless you know.”

“Right. Um... your knuckles are bleeding.”

Cersei blinked at her hands. So they were. Was this a dry skin thing? Maybe she had been neglecting her moisturizing regime. She made a note to book a green tea spa treatment first thing.

“Usually people wear gloves when they box for... forty-five minutes,” Brienne added.

Cersei looked at the clock. Look at that. How time flies when you’re having fun. Maybe she should box more often.

“Are you okay?” Brienne said cautiously.

“Of course,” Cersei laughed. “I just got distracted.“ She took a breath.

“But I’m completely focused now,” she added. Nobody says no to Cersei Lannister.

While Brienne moved her shopping bags into the apartment, Cersei took a moment to meditate in front of the mirror in her powder room. She ran through her self-affirmations. 

I am a goddess, mirror Cersei smirked. I am brilliant, I am beautiful, and I have never lost. In the soft light of the powder room, she nearly glowed. She gently cradled her biscuit. Her darling baby girl who she could mold in her image. Who would grow up knowing that Mummy’s wedding had been featured in the August edition of Vogue. 

She still had the engagement party this weekend. The whole world (or the important part anyway) being welcomed to Casterly Rock. It would be the social event of the year if she weren’t getting married a month later. The press and the paparazzi would be fighting each other for photos and she would be standing at the center of the hurricane. A star. Let’s see Vogue say no to you then, mirror Cersei winked. 

She came out of the bathroom feeling as though some subtle shift in the universe had occurred in her favor. Brienne had turned the television in the kitchen on, and the commercial for Storms Ending was playing. Cersei allowed herself a smug smile.

Really, she had only been trying to help Beric with that Daily Raven article. But Robert had said she’d made him look pathetic. Pathetic! Didn’t they know any press was good press? But Robert had said fix it, with that sullen stubborn look he got sometimes, where she knew he would pout and sulk for ages unless he got his way. Such a child, that one. 

Robert had been blowing off meeting with her camera crew to film the commercial so it had been a simple matter of selling it as an opportunity to retool Beric’s image. “Beric’s” image. Ha. As if Beric had ever been caught by hotel security breaking into the hot tub with four escorts.

Once she had aligned their interests, Robert had been almost docilely cooperative. And yes, maybe she did get a certain mischievous satisfaction in turning Beric into a tween heartthrob. All it took was the right clothes (she’d gone to his dry cleaners and gave them a five hundred dragon note to let her ‘borrow’ some of his suits for the right sizes) and some good lighting. A display of athleticism, a cute shot with a prop child, some CGI magic to get rid of that icky scar around his neck. Presto! He was adorable in a non-threatening squeaky clean kind of way. A million watching school girls squeezed their stuffed animals just a little tighter. Follow that up with a couple of hashtags on her part, a few thousand bot retweets and a phenomenon was born. 

A magazine should be child’s play compared to that.

She sent a quick calendar invite to Varys and Petyr for that afternoon, when Brienne would be at the Citadel. She wasn’t embarrassed that she still hadn’t gotten Vogue, not exactly, but she did somehow feel that the less people reflected on that fact the better. And she knew how Brienne looked up to her. The poor girl. She was such a role model, and she hated for Brienne to think there was anything she couldn’t do.

So it was with a twinge of relief that Cersei waved Brienne off to her to her silly job with the Archmaester (really, who when given a fake job demanded to be allowed to work, Brienne was so adorably strange). Then she retreated to the war room, which had once been the parlor, but now had been completely claimed by wedding planning.

At precisely two, Petyr and Varys both Ravyned in, her laptop screen splitting into three boxes to accommodate each of them. Occasional friends of hers in high school, Varys was now a columnist for the Daily Raven, covering the celebrity beat. Petyr was a freelance photographer, which Cersei would ordinarily consider a gross underuse of his talents, were she not fairly sure he was actually compiling a blackmail dossier for future endeavors.

“I want any updates on the engagement party,” she said brusquely. “Where are we?”

Varys and Petyr looked at each other.

“I got Moon Boy,” Varys announced.

Cersei felt the tension in her shoulders ease just a smidge. The EDM artist turned stand up comedian turned late night talk show host had been an A-List target.

“He’s agreed to do a segment on his show Friday, insulting half the people on Saturday’s guest list. The potential for tearful confrontations...” Petyr smirked. “I’ll be there to catch it all on camera naturally.”

“We’ll use the ensuing stories to inundate the tabloids, driving up the hype for the wedding itself,” Varys said. 

“Music?” Cersei asked.

“Marillion,” Petyr announced. “A surprise concert. He’ll serenade you on the back lawn of Casterly Rock.”

“Security?” 

“In addition to your father’s private force, we’ve hired the Gold Cloaks. There will also be a couple police cars on patrol in the area, and I have hired six people to attempt to break in,” Varys consulted his notes.

“Guests,” Cersei pursed her lips.

“I spoke to Shella Whent and she has agreed to move her garden party at Harrenhal, freeing up a number of people who had previously committed,” Petyr said. “You’ll have to invite her though.”

“Ugh that old bat,” Cersei sighed. “Who has a party on our national heritage day anyway?!”

Petyr and Varys exchanged another look. Did they think she was blind?

“Cersei,” Petyr said in his best soothing voice, which Cersei distrusted immediately. “The party is going to be flawless. We both have a vested interest in making it a superlative success.”

“These stories will make my career,” Varys added.

“I’m only wondering whether I’ll make more money selling the photos to magazines or back to the subjects for hush money,” Petyr continued.

“I’m only wondering if your date will care that you’ve abandoned her to take photos of strangers,” Varys sniffed.

“Lysa has always been understanding about my career,” Petyr smirked. 

“And your affairs?” Varys snarked back.

Cersei closed her eyes and let their ceaseless bickering flow over her. They were right. The engagement party would be the linchpin of her campaign, the coup de grace that ended this battle once and for all. 

She ended the call and cracked her knuckles in a distinctly unladylike fashion. It was time to go home.

She left a note for Brienne saying she was driving back to King’s Landing to prep for the party in three days, and gave her a list of pre-approved vegan takeout restaurants for dinner.

Then she hopped into her baby blue sports car, a college graduation gift from her father, and proceeded to leave Oldtown in the dust.

She got to Casterly Rock as the sun was setting, and the inherent beauty of the family’s ancestral home held her eye for a moment. Garth Greenhand was doing the flowers for both the engagement party and the wedding, and had clearly been at work constructing a massive arbor arch at the entryway. It smelled of lilacs and jasmine, and Cersei imagined the guests walking up on white sand drive, passing under the flowers to see the water fountains on either side. There would be rose petals on the day of, naturally, floating in the bowls. The stone lions would be festooned with garlands. People would walk up the steps—stop for a brief photo op—and then be ushered inside by the staff.

Her arrival would naturally be the highlight. Her cousin Joy, Uncle Gerion’s daughter, had gone to fashion school and was making a name for herself as a designer. She was doing Cersei’s dress, a custom number in gold and red silk that had left even Cersei a bit breathless. She would come in a vintage white convertible, a cheeky nod to her bride to be status, her elaborate hairdo protected by a driving scarf. She would be devil-may-care delighted at the party, casually amazed by the cheering throngs.

“Oh Daddy, you shouldn’t have,” Cersei practiced to herself with a light giggle. As if her father had lifted a finger after signing the check.

She would take off her matching white sunglasses, leave the car idling (someone would get it later) and walk down the path in her Joy Hill gown to the fanfare and applause of a thousand guests. This wasn’t just an engagement party, Cersei smirked. It was a fucking coronation.

The next two days were a blur. Joy had to take her dress in a size (Cersei mentally promised her biscuit all the cake she could want AFTER the wedding), Garth had pulled her aside to warn her that the trellises on the East Wing were overloaded with flowers and he wouldn’t be responsible for what could happen if anyone so much as sneezed on them (such a primadonna, who died and made him king), and Petyr called up in a tizzy wanting to know if Lysa’s invite was a plus one or named him specifically because it turned out that maybe she wasn’t okay with him constantly cheating on her and she was making noises about having met a real gentleman on their trip to the Summer Islands, an older man who treated her with respect... (Cersei told him no it was a generic plus one so get your fucking house in order). 

There were caterers to be directed, parking valets to be corralled, event planners to oversee. Her father had retreated into his study where he wouldn’t be disturbed, but Tyrion was happy to blow off classes on Friday to go over the wine list with her.

The third assistant sommelier, a Miss Tysha Crofter, was a slender dark haired girl that Cersei considered much too junior to have been tasked with this delicate work.

“You want the guests to start with a 2017 Honeywine? Do you want them to be asleep before the apperitifs,” she scolded the little dimwit.

“I don’t mind sweetness myself, but you’ll find my sister runs to the tart,” Tyrion had drawled, winking at the girl.

Gods, he was eighteen. The little hussy! Had she no shame?!

“Do not seduce the help!” Cersei hissed out of the side of her mouth as Tysha hurried to get another bottle.

“Well I have to do something to get the taste of that swill out of my mouth,” Tyrion laughed. “Stop worrying sister dearest. If I can be trusted to do one thing, it’s find good wine.”

“Who said there’s even one thing you can be trusted with?” Cersei shot him a warning look, but left him to go check on the fireworks.

Robert, when he finally showed up Saturday morning, was his usual imperturbable self.

“Here’s the ring, Queenie,” he tossed it to her. So romantic. Just how she always pictured getting the ring she would wear for the rest of her life.

Cersei shot him a look and opened the box to slip open the platinum band with an emerald, flanked on either side by a smaller diamond. The platinum was twisted to look like a thousand smaller strands, and Cersei admired how the stone caught the light on her hand.

Then she frowned.

“It’s too big,” she said, as the ring slid ever so slightly on her finger.

“Aw really? We did that stupid size chart and everything!” Robert groaned.

“It’s fine for tonight, but we’ll need to get it resized,” Cersei tsked and added it to her to do list. “Now let me show you wear to stand. You’ll be here on the terrace. As each guest comes up, you’ll shake their hand. The photographers will be over here. Make sure your left side is facing the cameras, you know that’s your good side. Robert, do you need me to mark this spot?”

“I literally hit routes for a living, Cers, I’ll be fine,” Robert kissed her temple. “When do we get to have engagement party sex?”

“There isn’t time for engagement party sex!” Cersei swatted him. “I have the entire party scheduled down to the minute. The party starts at five. I’m arriving at 5:55, and I’ll reach the top of the stairs at six, which according to my calculations of tonight’s sunset will be precisely the start of golden hour. We will kiss, as the sun dips below that tree over there, approximately 6:05, and that is as much action as you’ll be getting so savor it.”

Robert grinned.

“I’ll wear you down yet.”

Cersei arched an eyebrow and moved on to running through the guest list.

Her masseuse and her facialist arrived next, and then hair and makeup, and then Joy to fuss over the dress one last time. Westerling, her family’s butler, and Joy escorted her to the car waiting for her behind the guest house. Joy tied the scarf, and applied a last scarlet stain to her lips.

“Gods you look like a blonde Audree Hepbyrn,” Joy giggled.

“Knock them dead, Miss,” Westerling said, looking suspiciously teary eyed.

Cersei blew them a kiss and drove away. She couldn’t resist stopping two blocks from the main entrance, just to pull up the coverage on her phone.

“Here is Olenna Tyrell, escorted by her son Mace. She’s looking fabulous as usual, wearing three tiered pearl necklaces and a beautiful dove grey dress,” a bubbly reporter was enthusing on Channel Three’s webcast.

_I’ve rechecked the tables to make sure the Tyrells’ table is across the hall from your father’s._ Brienne. Cersei nodded approvingly.

“Agora of course has the exclusive coverage rights, but we have managed to place a man on the inside and he says everyone is buzzing about Moon Boy’s monologue last night,” a flamboyantly stylish fashion critic winked at her from Channel Four.

_Are you going to leave me with your father forever? Engagement party sex better be lit._ Robert. Cersei rolled her eyes.

“The real question of course is who will Miss Cersei Lannister, soon to be Baratheon, be wearing?” Asked Channel Five. “Sources have suggested that Argella Durrandon is a done deal for the wedding dress, a nice nod to the Baratheon Stormland history, but of course the engagement party is all about flexing that Lannister new money. Odds are good they’ll choose someone fresh and avant garde...”

_Jaime’s pretending he doesn’t care but we all want to see this dress father’s paying out the nose for. PS we got a twenty-five percent discount on the wines ;)_ Ugh, Tyrion.

Cersei checked her watch. She did so hate to keep her public waiting.

She shifted the gears, felt the rumble of the car engine through the calfskin leather seats. It was a summer evening in King’s Landing, the center of the country, and tonight Casterly Rock was the center of the city. And she, Cersei Lannister, was the center of the world.

The blue sky had darkened just a shade, the sun was painting clouds golden, it was the cusp of sunset as she pulled in. Barricades had been erected and throngs of people were clustered to take photos. She shot them a smile and a hundred bulbs flashed.

“Miss, they’re waiting for you,” an attendant hurried to open the door for her.

“Is all this for me?” She said in a wondering voice. More flashing bulbs.

“Miss Lannister who are you wearing?!“

“Miss Lannister, is it true Marillion is playing Casterly Rock?!”

“Miss Lannister, did Robert Baratheon found Storms Ending for you?”

She untied her scarf and shook her hair out, a tumble of loose blonde curls with a braided crown set with a diamond and gold filagree. 

“I’m wearing Joy Hill, a dear cousin of mine. Because nothing is more important to me than family,” Cersei said sweetly. “My father really handled the arrangements, I couldn’t possibly say who will be there. And Robert was inspired by an incident he witnessed at a bar, but the fact is ableism is an issue that speaks to both of us profoundly. My brother is a little person and has certainly dealt with his fair share of bullying. Charity work is actually one of the things that brought Robert and I together.”

“Cersei!”

“Miss Lannister!”

“MISS LANNISTER!”

“Sorry boys,” Cersei purred. “I believe I’m late to a party.”

Her stiletto heels clicked and she added just a hint of a roll to her hips as she strode down the path to her destiny.

Immediately the whispers started, a ripple radiating out from the arch she passed under, guests turning and gasping as they caught her in her glittering radiance.

Across the front gardens, her father and her fiancé stood silhouetted against the fiery sky. Tywin Lannister, tall, thin, back ramrod straight as he mechanically shook each well-wisher’s hand. Across from him, Robert threw his head back and laughed at something Hoster Tully was saying, the easy magnetism of his personality capturing everything in his orbit. He threw his arm around Hoster and grinned for the cameras, completely ignoring her instructions about what side to stand on. All the same she felt a flush of warmth. Gods he looked good in a tux.

She absently touched her stomach (a weakness, don’t do that again), and he looked up and saw her and smiled. She put a hand to her hair, a mockery of primping. She knew damn well she looked perfect.

And as she prepared to take the first step toward her future, she heard it.

The dull mechanical drone of a chopper. The guests heard it too, they were turning away from her, turning to identify the source of the sound.

Look at me!!! Cersei wanted to stamp her foot. This is my moment, look at me!

Was it the police? How could Varys have overlooked this, he was on the security detail, he’d had everything buttoned up?! She would castrate him for this, see if she didn’t.

But as she helplessly squinted at the helicopter, she had to admit it was private. It touched down right in the center of where they had planned to have the guests view the fireworks.

A door opened.

A slim elegant woman with dark hair and a stunning red dress stepped out, accompanied by an equally dark haired escort who also looked suspiciously good in a tux.

Cersei’s eyes slipped helplessly back to Tywin and Robert. Her father’s face was twisted in irritation, his knuckles white. Meanwhile, Robert’s ever easy smile had vanished, his tanned skin pale. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“It’s Steffon and Cassana Baratheon!!” Olenna Tyrell laughed delightedly, audible across half a garden. And the guests clapped in delight.

Cersei looked across the lawn at her future father and mother in law. Across a hundred yards, Cassana Baratheon smirked.

Oh game on bitch. GAME ON.


	18. Stannis (Been Away For So Long 1 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all have scenes that we’re not 100% happy with and then we say we’ll fix them later and then we never do and one day you wake up and realize it’s time to post THAT chapter and you’ve run out of time to fix it lol... Which is to say that the scene at the end of this chapter probably needed a little more room to breathe, but everything else in the story is perfect going forward ;)

Somewhere between catching the immediately recognizable stag’s head logo on the helicopter and the moment when his parents stepped down onto the great lawn of Casterly Rock, Stannis felt his stomach flip.

His gaze automatically slid to Robert, who was looking back at him from next to Tywin Lannister in mute anguish. His gaze slid to Renly, who was clutching a glass of wine in a trembling hand next to Brienne Tarth. Shit. They were in so much trouble.

Stannis immediately squelched the thought. He was an adult for the seven’s sake. This wasn’t like they’d gotten kicked out of mass. They’d only had a party. With their father’s sworn nemesis. That had spiraled into the social event of the year. And kind of maybe slightly “forgot” to invite their parents. Oh fuck it. This was so much worse.

Stannis jerked his head toward the orchard abutting the north wing. Robert and Renly both nodded.

As Stannis stiffly excused himself from a conversation with Axel Florent, he reflected that in some ways, it was a mercy that the party was being held at Casterly Rock. If there was one location that the Baratheon boys knew almost as well as their own home, it was this one.

He and Robert had been abandoned to “play” with Jaime and Cersei Lannister more times than he could recall as a child. (Jaime and Cersei had always hated them. Any playing that they did, and Stannis didn’t remember much, had been alone together.) Renly had experienced much the same enforced social activity with Tyrion. And what the Baratheon boys knew that their parents certainly did not, was the secret tree house in the pine grove at the edge of the orchard.

He reached it first, was pleased to see the old knotted rope still swinging much as he remembered it. Taking a quick look around to make sure nobody would catch him climbing a rope ladder in a tux, he hoisted himself hand over hand up onto the platform.

It wasn’t maybe five minutes later that he saw Renly running through the trees, wine glass still in hand. The rope twitched, and seconds later his younger brother’s head appeared, trapping the still half full glass between chin and shoulder.

“You couldn’t have put that down?” Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Tyrion said he picked out the wines himself! It would have been rude!” Renly protested, cradling the glass to his chest. Then, remembering the greater issue at hand, he lifted his dark blue eyes up to Stannis’ own.

“How did they find out?! I was checking the mail every morning just like you said!! I got the stupid box, I RSVP’ed no, I hid it in my cuff links collection box, and I know it’s still there, I saw it yesterday when I was trying to decide whether I should use the gold or silver antlers,” Renly wailed.

“Renly, shhhh! This is a secret meeting!” Stannis tried to hush him. Not that he wasn’t also panicked. He’d checked their calendar this morning! They were supposed to be on a cruise in the fjords of Lorath!

“They’re gonna kill us!!” Renly banged his head against the floorboards, making even more noise if possible.

“Look shut up, it wasn’t you okay?! I am reasonably certain that it was Jaime Lannister. Somehow.”

Stannis flashed back on their conversation and ground his teeth. How could he have been so careless?!

He and Robert and Renly had decided, in a rare moment of unanimity, that it would be for the best if their parents did not come to the evening’s festivities. Renly already hated that Robert was the only child their parents paid even a cursory amount of attention to. A party where he was actually the center of attention?! Renly probably would have preferred to go to a football game rather than endure such an evening with their parents. Stannis, personally, just knew that they would somehow find a way to blame him for Robert getting Cersei pregnant. Which she wasn’t. But still. Somehow this would be his fault because he was the responsible one and why hadn’t he been looking out for his brother. As for Robert...

It was possible that he didn’t want to completely ruin the party by introducing Steffon and Tywin into an enclosed area.

For much of their childhood, their father had been good friends with Tywin Lannister, and the mayor at the time, his cousin, Aerys Targaryen. Stannis wasn’t sure what had happened exactly—certainly the fact that the mayor was a psychopath didn’t help—but their friendship had been hanging on by a thread when Joanna Lannister died. 

His parents hadn’t gone to the funeral. As far as he could remember, that had been the (Stannis winced) final nail in the coffin.

Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon hadn’t spoken since.

Okay, think this through. Think, think, think. What had Jaime said? Probably just, oh did the invite get lost in the mail. So worst case, the three of them were on the hook for not telling their parents about the party. Which they had quite reasonably not mentioned because they hadn’t seen their parents in months. So this wasn’t their fault. Stannis let out a slow breath. This was going to be okay.

Robert’s head popped through the hole, followed by the rest of him, pulling the rope up after.

“This is going to be a disaster!!” Robert groaned. He snagged Renly’s glass of wine and drained it, eliciting a howl of rage from Renly.

“Robert, Renly, shut up, this is a secret meeting!” Stannis hissed at them.

“Look, as near as I can figure, it’s unfortunate that dad and Tywin will be in the same place. But none of this is our fault... As far as they’re aware,” Stannis added guiltily. “We invited them to the party. They just haven’t been home. It’s not our fault that they don’t care about your wedding enough to come back.”

“Ummm about that,” Robert scratched his head.

“Oh no,” Renly breathed.

“Robert. Did you not tell our parents about the wedding?” Stannis growled.

“Okay in my defense, it seemed like everybody already knew! It’s been in the papers every day!”

“The papers here in Westeros! Where our parents never are unless they have a very good reason!”

“And it’s not like they give a fuck about us! Why would they even care!”

“Have you met our mother?! Why would she care that she didn’t get to be at the social event of the season where she got to be the proud mother of the groom?! Her precious star quarterback?!” Stannis snapped.

“I’m so screwed. Mom and Dad are going to kill me. And then Tywin Lannister is going to kill me. And then...”

“ROBERT!” A very familiar voice shouted up from the base of the tree. “LET THE ROPE DOWN NOW!”

“Cersei is going to kill me,” Robert rolled onto his back. 

“ROBERT!!!” Cersei shrieked. Seriously, did nobody understand the concept of a secret meeting?!

“NO GIRLS ALLOWED!” Renly shrieked back.

Apparently not.

With a sigh, Stannis tossed the rope down.

Cersei clambered up surprisingly quickly for someone wearing a partially sheer red and gold dress that had Stannis averting his eyes.

“Is that a Joy Hill?” Renly forgot his previously combative demeanor immediately. “I thought she’d only done the one capsule collection?”

“Cersei, I’m so sorry, I had no idea they’d be here, we thought, I mean I thought they WOULDN’T be here, we...”

“The three of you sabotaged the invite list so they wouldn’t come. I noticed the RSVP was in Renly’s handwriting. It was smart,” Cersei shrugged. “They must have seen a mention in the foreign press. What you have to deal with now is father.”

Robert blinked, taken aback by her calm demeanor. Honestly, Stannis was rather surprised as well. Apparently her ire was being channeled at a different target. May the gods have mercy on their soul.

“Um can’t you handle him?” Robert began tentatively.

“I will be dealing with... other matters,” Cersei’s nostrils flared white. “I need you to handle this.  
Please. Just get your father and my father to play nice for one evening. Can you do that?”

Since when had anyone gotten Tywin Lannister to do anything?

“Yeah I can do that,” Robert gulped. Stannis mentally facepalmed.

“What are we doing?” Melisandre’s head suddenly poked into the treehouse.

“How did you find us?” Stannis asked surprised, as he helped her in.

“I saw you head in this direction and then after that I followed the ungodly screaming,” Melisandre said drily.

Stannis shot a glare at his brothers and Cersei.

“I’m glad you’re here Melisandre,” Cersei said calmly, ignoring him entirely. “I must say it shows great initiative on your part as a bridesmaid.”

Melisandre’s eye twitched.

“These three can catch you up. I’ll expect it handled promptly. If you manage things according to my expectations, I’ll see what I can do about tossing you the bouquet at my weddding. Brienne will understand.”

“You’re too kind,” Melisandre glared.

“I like to reward success,” Cersei said serenely, and then shimmied down the rope ladder as easily as if it were a slide.

“So why don’t you catch me up?” Melisandre asked sardonically.

“Basically we need to keep Tywin Lannister and my father from killing each other. Bonus points if we can get them to smile for a camera,” Renly said.

“Hey, are you guys smoking weed up here without me?” Thoros stuck his head in. 

Stannis pressed his fingers to his temples. Did nobody understand the concept of a secret meeting?!

“I wish! Do you have any?” Robert asked with a loud laugh. Stannis gritted his teeth.

“I was hoping you did! That fucking chopper nearly landed on me!” Thoros said back, just as loudly.

“You were fine,” Melisandre interjected.

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Maybe Oberyn has some? Should I text him?” Robert raised his voice over their bickering.

“Ooooooh,” Renly clapped his hands.

“SHUT UP!” Stannis howled.

There was a sullen silence in the tree house.

For five seconds.

“Stannis, can you be a little quieter?” Melisandre said reprovingly.

“It’s a secret meeting,” Renly shushed him.

“Really? Because I heard you guys like across the orchard,” Thoros said interestedly.

“Where’s Beric?” Robert suddenly noticed his friend was uncharacteristically solo.

“Hiding from one Jeyne Westerling. She’s eight and precocious. Beric is terrified,” Thoros snickered.

Stannis stared at them all as the volume slowly crept back to its prior deafening level.

“Yes Thoros, it is a secret meeting,” he cut through the conversation. “We need to get our father to make up with Tywin Lannister, and it’s all Jaime Lannister’s fault!”

“You can’t know that,” Melisandre rolled her eyes.

“You heard him on the phone!” Stannis spluttered.

“The engagement party has been all over the news! For all we know, they saw that fucking Storms Ending commercial!”

“I like that commercial,” Thoros put in.

“Eh. I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Renly shrugged. “All the girls at Prep are gaga over it though.” 

“All I’m saying is that Jaime said he had a fail-safe plan and that I would be collateral damage,” Stannis tried to return them to the matter at hand.

“Oh,” Thoros suddenly looked away from glaring at Renly. “Huh. Did you say fail-safe?”

“That was the phrase he used,” Melisandre nodded.

“Right. Um Stannis is probably right,” Thoros looked sheepish.

“Did you know about this?!” Melisandre growled.

“Not exactly...” Thoros scrunched his face.

“What did he say exactly?!” Melisandre bit out.

“That he needed a fail-safe plan to stick it to Stannis?” Thoros made it sound like a question, as he edged away from his younger sister.

“And you never brought it up because...”

“Well it’s not like I knew the specifics! Ned was saying something about Cat listening too much to her father and her father ruining the marriage and childhood best friends and then Jaime ran out.”

“See it kind of seems like you knew the specifics,” Melisandre said very quietly. Thoros shivered.

“I’m on Robert’s side!!!” He protested.

“I know you are buddy,” Robert patted his top knot.

“Okay, three issues. Robert, you need to get to our parents and apologize for not telling them you were GETTING MARRIED,” Stannis said sternly. “Then we need to talk to dad about smoothing things over with Tywin, and I literally have no ideas on that front. Finally, we need to take care of Jaime. I will handle that,” Stannis said firmly. Oh he would handle it.

“Can you also come with me when I apologize to Mom and Dad?” Robert looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me!” Stannis narrowed his eyes.

“I won’t! I swear I won’t!”

“Okay fine. Renly, you and Melisandre are in charge of implementing whatever plan we come up with to reconcile our dad with Tywin.”

“I can help,” Thoros offered.

“Renly, you and Melisandre are in charge of implementing whatever plan we come up with to reconcile our dad with Tywin,” Stannis repeated stoically. “Now does anyone have any ideas they would like to submit to the floor?”

“What if he apologized?” Melisandre said hesitantly. “Would that be enough?”

“He won’t apologize, he thinks he basically could have stopped the whole Aerys Targaryen thing ten years ago if Tywin had bothered to listen to him. Instead Tywin and Aerys cut him out,” Robert explained.

“Well Tywin won’t apologize, he thinks dad is a superficial dick who was fine rubbing elbows with him at parties but couldn’t bother to show up for Joanna Lannister’s funeral!” Renly protested.

“I don’t know...” Stannis mumbled, trying to recall a conversation he’d had with Jaime once. “Jaime said Tywin felt like he’d backed the wrong horse, that he was... I don’t know, not sad, but regretted how things had turned out. I’m not saying he’d apologize, but if he thought dad was willing to put it behind him, he might put it behind him too?”

“So nobody apologizes, they just pretend it never happened?” Melisandre said sarcastically. “Wow that’s healthy.”

“Nope that’s definitely how it has to be,” Robert nodded assent.

“So we get them into a room, and if Steffon thinks Tywin feels bad and Tywin thinks Steffon feels bad, they’ll just sort of bury the hatchet?” Melisandre said dubiously. 

“Robert and I can bring it up with dad. Who wants to handle Tywin?” Stannis said, aware that this plan was thin. But with the disconcerting regularity with which his really well thought out plans backfired, was there even any point in trying?

“Ooooh me!” Renly waved his hand.

Stannis looked at Melisandre. 

“Meeeee!” Renly moved so he was now in front of Melisandre.

“Fine. Do I even want to know?” Stannis asked dully.

“Well I saw this romcom the other night and...”

“Actually I really don’t. Come on Robert,” Stannis sighed heavily. 

They naturally found their parents swarmed by admirers and well-wishers and assorted hangers-on.

“Excuse me,” Stannis said politely to a star struck Whent. No response.

“Excuse me?” He tried a little louder. Nothing.

“Coming through!” Robert shouldered the Whent aside, grabbing Stannis by the arm as he went. Stannis gritted his teeth as he was half dragged the remaining ten yards, Robert sending trays of canapés, drinks and the occasional socialite flying.

“Mom! Dad!” Robert announced when they finally got there. “You made it!”

Steffon Baratheon looked like an older version of Robert. The resemblance was truly striking. Cassana Baratheon also had black hair, in long curls that had been swept up into an elegant chignon. Teardrop pearls swung from her ears as she laughed at a joke Melessa Tarly had made, her striking scarlet dress (it reminded Stannis of a more conservative version of Cersei’s) catching the light. A photographer snapped a candid.

“Robert!!!” Cassana cooed. “My baby boy’s all grown up!” 

There was a collective ‘awwww’ from the crowd, and Robert gave a sheepish smile for the audience as she pinched his cheeks.

“We need a family photo!!” Steffon boomed. “You with the camera! The Baratheons!”

They put their arms around Robert.

“Do you want me in this or...” Stannis began drily. The camera clicked. Evidently not.

“I’m so glad Jaime got a hold of you,” Robert said to their parents, drawing them away from the crowd. “We were so worried when the invitation we sent to Lorath got returned undelivered!”

What. Stannis shot a look at Robert who looked innocently back.

“So worried,” he said flatly.

Their mother lifted an eyebrow.

“The invitation was lost in the mail?”

“Of course! You don’t think something like this could happen in my life and I wouldn’t tell you guys?!” Robert said sweetly. “Maybe Renly messed up the address somehow?”

And there it was. Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Really darling, I can’t see how this even happened,” Cassana smoothed Robert’s hair as if he were a child. “Cersei Lannister? You know we haven’t really socialized with the Lannisters since Joanna’s passing.”

“Robert has dated Cersei since high school, Mom,” Stannis pointed out, perhaps a tad snidely. “She was his prom queen, remember?”

From the expression of bemusement on their mother’s face, it was clear that she did not.

“Of course, now it’s coming back,” she laughed for the benefit of any third parties in earshot. “Little Cersei. She always did follow you everywhere. And you were always sweet on her. Remember when you made her that valentine?”

Stannis and Robert exchanged a look. Cersei and Robert had always despised each other until... well until they didn’t. The aforementioned valentine had been for Lyanna Stark.

“That’s right Mum,” Robert said easily. “She loved it.”

It shouldn’t have mattered. It clearly didn’t to Robert. All the same, Stannis felt the old unasked for hurt welling up. What was wrong with these people?! Why didn’t their kids matter to them?! Were the three of them so fucking uninteresting?! Maybe Robert and Renly were shitheads, maybe he was awkward and over serious, but come hell or high water he would bet his life that any of them would be better parents than Steffon and Cassana.

That was the sad part. The bar was so fucking low. Literally all they had to do was be there for their children.

Stannis blinked, a sudden and particularly unwelcome thought intruding.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” He whispered, pulling Robert out of the circle and away from the crowd.

“So that went great right? We have this in the bag,” Robert looked over his shoulder.

“Is Cersei really pregnant?” Stannis crossed his arms.

“What?” Robert frowned.

“Look, I know you’re weirdly crazy about her and it doesn’t matter to you. But it matters to me. Is Cersei really pregnant? Or do you just have her word that she is?”

“Uh dude, I’ve been with her to like five different neo-natal specialists. I’ve watched her pee on a stick. Not as kinky as you’d think. She’s already applied to get on the waitlist for the under-twos program at Oldtown’s best private school.”

“She could have hired those doctors,” Stannis pointed out, brow furrowing, aware that he was grasping at straws. “Gotten a positive pregnancy test online. Applying to be on a wait list doesn’t commit you to anything.”

“It’s not my first pregnancy scare rodeo,” Robert raised an eyebrow. “Famous athlete, remember? Plenty of girls pretending to be pregnant for some hush money. I might marry her anyway, but I’d know if she were faking.”

Stannis stewed, feeling the words bubbling up, hating them. 

“You have to be there for your kid.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t pull that shit that Mom and Dad do. You have to marry Cersei and really be there for the baby, because gods know he or she is going to be really screwed up having Cersei as a mother. So you have to be there. It’s…” Stannis swallowed, feeling a bubble of resentment popping. “It’s your duty.”

If there were any chance that Cersei was telling the truth, no matter how remote, he wanted Robert to be there every step of the way. This kid deserved a father. Robert might pass along a whole host of other psychological issues, but absenteeism was one scar that was stopping at this generation.

“I will,” Robert said simply. They looked at each other uncertainly, because they weren’t great about doing the whole manly heart to heart thing. Then Robert clapped his shoulder and ambled off.

Stannis let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He turned to look at his brother, who had made his way back to the crowd and was now talking earnestly to their father about how much it would mean to him if he’d let bygones be bygones with Tywin. Just let the past stay in the past.

They were all doing their best.

He gave Robert a tired smile and Robert gave a goofy grin back, mock toasting him with a glass of champagne he’d conjured from somewhere. 

Gods he was going to be a disaster of a father. But he would be a father.

Stannis turned his attention from the past and the future to the matter at present.

Jaime fucking Lannister.


	19. Brienne (Been Away For So Long 2 of 8)

Brienne was not having a panic attack. Everything was COMPLETELY under control. She just wasn’t entirely sure she could breath.

She sat down on a marble bench festooned with lilies, and checked the laminated to-do list that Cersei had presented her with upon her arrival that morning.

She had let in the sound system people, made sure they were paid, supervised the installation. She had spent two hours placing name cards on the tables throughout the great courtyard according to Cersei’s ever changing master list she kept on a shared spreadsheet. Then Brienne had rechecked the spreadsheet, and of course Cersei had made several changes, primarily to the Tyrells.

Cersei had picked out her dress, a gauzy peach shift with one shoulder that felt a little bit like she was running around with only a personal cloud to conceal her modesty. She had hoped to find Jaime for a little reassurance—(she heard that in his voice and blushed—just reassurance!!)—but he was inexplicably nowhere to be seen.

Tyrion said he’d chatted with him earlier, Ned had run into him at the bar, Oberyn wondered why she was looking for Jaime when he, Oberyn, was right here and had he mentioned that dress was just exquisite....

Not feeling at all reassured, Brienne had hastily retreated back inside to retrieve a shawl from her suitcase in Jaime’s room and maybe yes, see if he was also hiding out in there.

He was not. She cloaked herself in the shawl feeling unaccountably forlorn. There was just so much to do and none of the guests paid any attention to her except to stare. The only exceptions were Jaime’s Aunt Genna who kept casting furtive looks at her like someone had let in a very large mouse and his Uncle Tygett who had mistaken her for somebody’s nanny and put a completely silent seven year old named Tyrek’s sticky hand into her own.

“He’s gluten-free, sugar-free and completely vegan. Try to keep it organic, and for the gods’ sakes keep your eyes on him, he’s like a magpie,” Jaime’s uncle said sternly. Brienne looked at the small blond child holding her hand. She wasn’t entirely clear what that was supposed to mean. 

After towing Tyrek around for thirty minutes looking for an actual nanny (or bird keeper), she’d finally managed to hand him off to Tyrion and was thoroughly sick of the Ty- prefix in general.

She went outside and as she often did when she was feeling overwhelmed, looked for a nice quiet place to be alone.

The marble bench had seemed a nice quiet spot, surrounded by flowers and away from the high contact sport of society mingling. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, let the faint fragrance of the lilies calm her and savored the sensation of being finally, blessedly, alone.

“Hi Brienne!” 

She opened her eyes to find Renly Baratheon standing arms akimbo inches away.

Or not.

As always, he had made the dress code his own, an elegantly dapper midnight blue tux bringing out his striking blue eyes. She wasn’t sure he would ever be quite as tall or as broad-shouldered as Robert, but he had an aristocratic fineness to his features that his brothers lacked. Next to him, she felt even more ungainly than she did normally.

“What is that?!” Renly wrinkled his nose.

“Oh just something Cersei made me wear,” Brienne mumbled.

“Ugh no, that dress is a modern homage to vintage Lysene gowns from the 1920s, it’s lovely. What is that!” Renly whisked her shawl away, pinching it between his fingers like he had seized a dead rat.

“I felt like people were staring at me,” Brienne flushed.

“Of course they were, there’s a massive photo of you swimming in the Tarbeck exhibition at the Tayte,” Renly said blithely. He tossed her shawl over one shoulder, it somehow seeming jauntily cavalier on him, and extended his arm. “Take a spin with me? We have so much to catch up on since I’ve been at drama camp! Did I tell you that an agent gave me his card?!”

Brienne smiled helplessly at Renly’s imperturbable chivalry. She had known him since he was in kindergarten and he had always known what to say to cheer her up. Even now at fourteen, an age where she remembered most boys being awful pack animals, Renly was still stubbornly one of a kind.

Renly was chatting animatedly about how this could be the break into the film industry that he’d been waiting for and did his parents even care?! No! His mother had brushed him off to talk to her friends the Tullys, and you know if Robert had said something might be his big break, she would have at least put down her wine and heard him out.

“Your parents are here?” Brienne frowned. She’d gotten the vague impression that they wouldn’t be, but of course that was ridiculous. They would never miss an important life event like this.

“You missed the grand entrance?” Renly rolled his eyes. 

“I may have been escorting a jam smeared child through the bowels of this house,” Brienne offered.

“Well it was by helicopter,” Renly snorted  
. “That’s mostly what we need to discuss. Remember that scene in How to Lose a Guy in a Fortnight?”

“What scene?” Brienne asked. Before she had left for college, she and Renly had had a long standing romcom movie night.

“Where the guy finds out the girl likes him because he overhears a conversation that their friends are having? And then their friends separately lure them to that balcony and he’s actually nice to her and she realizes she actually is in love with them and then they kiss and then they only find out later that she’d never told their friends anything like that?”

“Of course,” Brienne laughed. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

“Right, we’re doing that,” Renly said, wheeling her through the crowd.

“With your parents? Are they having a tiff?”

“What? No! With dad and Tywin!”

“You want your dad to kiss Tywin on a balcony?” Brienne wasn’t sure she was fully following.

“NO! EW! Tywin is mine!”

Brienne accepted and even cherished many of Renly’s eccentricities, but his crush on Tywin was really really not one of them. Literally everybody except Melisandre found it deeply unsettling.

“He’s not gay,” she said in her most severe and disapproving tone.

“Neither is my dad. I want Tywin to overhear that father feels terribly about how they don’t talk anymore. Then we lure them to a place my dad would actually go, like a bar, slash a place Tywin would actually go, like a library, so just spitballing here, the bar cart in the library, and then they make up.”

“Oh. Okay,” Brienne said tentatively. Although speaking of Tywin... “Have you seen Jaime?”

“Is he not around?” Renly asked lightly. But there was something in his polished surprise that rang slightly off.

“Where... is... Jaime?” Brienne stopped their walk about, squeezing his arm.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Renly gave her a sunny smile that was at least devoid of artifice. “Oh look, it’s Olenna Tyrell! Hi Olenna!!”

“Why Renly, you charming young man. Look at you, stealing the prettiest girl here for yourself,” Olenna Tyrell, an elegant woman with light brown hair streaking gray rather gracefully, arched an eyebrow at Renly.

Brienne blushed. She was sure that Olenna meant it (painful interactions with her former college advisor had taught her that the erstwhile CEO of the Tyrell Agricultural Conglomerate did not believe in mincing words), but she couldn’t quite trust those kinds of comments.

Jaime would say that was nonsense. He’d remind her of that gods damned photo now hanging in a museum for strangers to gawp at. She looked around once more to look for him to no avail.

“I do hope your grades this year were not any indication of future efforts,” Olenna was telling Renly sternly. “I know you Baratheons must have a brain cell or two in there somewhere, Stannis was evidence enough of that. And Robert always had his football. You can’t possibly make me sell a theater program though...”

“Oh look,” Renly deliberately changed the subject, his light tenor carrying across the crowd. “Is that Tywin Lannister? He’s looking rather fit isn’t he?”

From Tywin’s flinch, Renly’s remark had certainly carried far enough. Brienne was sure he’d move further from them (Tywin being firmly in the camp of those unnerved by Renly’s fascination with him) but then Olenna gave a rich chuckle.

“If my son weren’t here right now... Mace does so hate to be embarrassed by me.”

Tywin had surprisingly paused, although it may have been due to his being waylaid by Brandon Stark.

“I keep telling him, Mace it’s nothing that a diet and a lie about a thyroid issue won’t fix,” Olenna flapped a hand. “Anyway, the last thing he needs is a reminder that his mother is a living breathing woman who likes to flirt with handsome widowers.”

Tywin and Brandon were still talking, Tywin having ushered Brandon a step or two closer to avoid a passing waiter.

“It’s too bad that there’s so many people around, I know my father had been looking for a chance to talk to him in private,” Renly sighed.

“Oh?” Olenna raised an eyebrow.

“I thought they didn’t speak to each other,” Brienne chipped in dutifully.

“They don’t. And it’s really eating him up, especially now that Robert and Cersei are engaged. He just wants to put the whole thing behind him, and he’s not sure how,” Renly said earnestly, sounding both saddened and wistful. 

Brienne didn’t care what Olenna thought, Renly would make a wonderful actor some day.

“Stuff and nonsense. They’re men, what’s to say. They’ll have a glass of scotch and hem and haw and the whole thing will be over with,” Olenna sniffed.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Renly shook his head as if they were discussing matters of state. “Father didn’t come to Joanna Lannister’s funeral. At the time, he felt like his presence would have been an extra burden with his and Tywin’s falling out, but I don’t think Tywin has ever forgotten it. And it’s made father shy of reaching out.”

“This is why women should rule the world,” Olenna gave Brienne a conspiratorial look. “Anyone who had ever met Joanna Lannister should know that she didn’t give two lambs’ farts about this kind of petty nonsense. She knew the Baratheons loved her, and the rest is in the details,” Olenna flapped a hand. “I can’t imagine Tywin would keep a grudge over something so silly.”

Brienne discreetly glanced over her shoulder, but the subject in question had disappeared.

“I do hope so,” Renly didn’t even look surprised at how ably Olenna played along. “And may I just say,” he gave her a cheekily flirtatious grin. “How very much I like you, Olenna.”

“Please, call me Mrs. Tyrell,” Olenna’s smile was razor sharp but her laugh genuine. “If only I had another son for you.”

“As if I’d survive being related to her,” Renly whispered smirking to Brienne as he dragged her away.

“I think that went quite well all things considered,” he continued.

“How do you even know? I don’t think he heard anything after you shouted about how hot he is,” Brienne said doubtfully.

Renly smiled smugly but made no response.

“Oh is that Cersei?” Brienne caught a glimpse of red and gold. “Can I have my shawl back? I need to see if she knows where Jaime is.”

“Absolutely not,” Renly cast her a stern look. “It ruins the outfit. We’ll put it down over here on the bench you were hiding on. Just don’t forget it later.”

“Fine,” Brienne huffed, mentally resolving to retrieve it as soon as Renly’s back was turned.

She caught up with Cersei, who was clutching a glass, not of her now standard sparkling cider, but of red wine.

“Have you seen Jaime?” 

She asked hopefully.

“Did you know that Moon Boy isn’t showing?” Cersei swung on her.

“I didn’t know Moon Boy was showing,” Brienne said cautiously, sensing that perhaps was not the best time to be approaching Cersei.

“And Marillion!” Cersei hissed. “This is a disaster!”

Brienne looked around the party, probably the nicest party she had ever been to. Everybody seemed to be having a grand time.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Brienne asked uncertainly.

“You’ve done quite enough,” Cersei said. Was that sarcasm? Cersei was so difficult to read. “But there is one more thing I must ask you.”

“Okay?” Brienne said hesitantly.

“You don’t mind if I toss my bouquet to Melisandre do you?” Cersei said.

“Oh,” Brienne blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her really that Cersei would toss the bouquet at all.

“Just a little thank you for her help,” Cersei patted her on the shoulder.

Melisandre’s help? Melisandre had no time for Cersei and less time for weddings.

“Now excuse me, I have a party to save,” Cersei said, handing her glass of wine to Brienne.

Brienne blinked at it.

Had she done something wrong? Was Cersei disappointed in her? Should she have known about Marillion and Moon Boy? 

She never even said whether she’d seen Jaime.

Brienne looked at the quite full glass. With a resigned sigh, she took a gulp. 

Actually, the wine was quite good she thought. Especially since she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. She ambled through the crowd, and had another longer sip, idly backtracking toward the bench she’d first run into Renly at. It was gone. Her shawl was gone. As she blinked, owlishly bewildered, she heard a familiar voice from around the corner and instinctively shrunk back.

“It’s just too awful for words! That Jaime would embarrass us like this!” Jaime’s Aunt Genna was saying loudly to one of her brothers. Gerion? Brienne bit her lip. Were they talking about her? She retreated toward the bar.

“May I have another one of these?” Brienne pushed the glass at a bartender, a little surprised to find it empty so soon. Still, that was good stuff.

“Brienne?” A soft voice asked. Brienne turned. Catelyn Tully—Catelyn Tully-Stark, Brienne corrected herself, was sitting there with her own glass.

“Catelyn!” Brienne beamed, partly happy to see her for the first time in at least a year, partly just relieved to find a friendly face.

They hugged, then laughed, then hugged again.

“You look so tan! How was your vacation?” Brienne asked shyly. Ned had spoken of her often while he was at Cersei’s.

Catelyn gave her a look, and took a long defiant gulp of her wine. Brienne let slip a rueful chuckle and took a sip of her own.

“That bad?”

“C’mon let’s find somewhere private,” Catelyn grabbed her arm. “I think dinner is starting soon and I just can’t face my father right now.”

They chose what Brienne had always privately thought of as the reading room—a small second floor nook with plushy armchairs that looked down on the much larger library below. 

Catelyn flopped into one, her normally braided auburn hair swinging loose and defiant.

“I think I need to murder my father. Do you think Beric would represent me pro bono?” She said drily.

Brienne smothered another smile. It was nice to feel that she wasn’t the only one in hopelessly over her head.

“I think he still has another year of law school to go,” she tried to play along.

“Nonsense, it’ll be easy. I already have my defense. It’s not guilty by reason of temporary insanity by reason of family vacation,” Catelyn waved her wine glass. Then she looked at it, as if noticing it for the first time.

“I shouldn’t even be drinking! Here you take it, you’re empty.” 

Brienne looked down at her own glass. So she was. Wow this was great stuff. She’d have to compliment Tyrion later.

“We hadn’t even left for the Summer Islands when my father started in on Ned. How we were living in a shoe box and what kind of life was that for a baby, and nothing had happened that couldn’t be undone, that he had all sorts of eligible sons of friends that wouldn’t mind taking on a divorcee with a young son. Taking me on! Like I was some sort of charity project!”

Brienne shook her head sympathetically.

“And then the entire trip, I was practically running into half the male population of Westeros! I think he would have locked me in a closet with some of these creeps if he’d thought that would work!”

Catelyn shuddered.

“So just to get him off my back I went out to dinner a couple times with Jon Arryn. Remember, from Prep? He’s really sweet and he adores Ned, and he felt terrible about the whole thing and was happy to take me out to dinner and just talk about Proust or whatever. Problem solved right? WRONG! Lysa got all pissy at me! She said she’d always had a crush on him in high school—psh, since when?! And she has Petyr, it’s completely absurd! But anyway, how dare I take HER man. So then she insisted on coming everywhere with us, and the worst thing is I think he WAS kind of interested? Like she’s half his age! My baby sister with Mr. Arryn from senior lit!”

Brienne blushed at the thought.

“And now I come home, and everybody thinks Ned and I are having marriage problems thanks to my father! You wouldn’t believe how many sympathetic should pats I’ve gotten. It’s been a disaster from start to finish. Brienne, take it from me, family is overrated,” Catelyn sighed.

“Jaime’s aunts and uncles keep staring at me,” Brienne confided. “And I heard his Aunt Genna say that he was embarrassing the whole family. And now Cersei doesn’t want to throw her bouquet to me—I didn’t even know she was going to!—and I’m worried I’ve made a mess of things somehow.”

“The Lannisters are uniformly pieces of work. As far as I’m concerned, Jaime’s the only one who is halfway decent, and the jury is still out on him,” Catelyn hugged her. “If they can’t recognize how special you are, they don’t deserve your company.”

“I don’t want to be the reason Jaime drifts from his family,” Brienne protested. 

“He might thank you,” Catelyn reiterated stubbornly. “Have you ever noticed that Genna looks like Kevan in a dress?”

Brienne gave an undignified snort of laughter.

“That’s not true!”

“It is true. Now you’ll never be able to unsee it. You’re welcome.” Catelyn gave a mischievous smirk.

Just then, they were abruptly joined by Beric Dondarrion.

“Catelyn, Brienne, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he apologized, seeming rather frazzled. Brienne felt badly for him. He had always been very kind to her in high school, and let her and Jaime sit at his lunch table when nobody else would. She rather suspected, as a fellow shy person, that the attention his commercial with Robert brought was not entirely welcome.

“There’s been an um incident, Ned rather needs your help,” Beric continued, speaking to Catelyn. And of course, that was Beric for you, trying to help his friend. Even though she didn’t know him very well, Brienne had the sudden urge to say something reassuring.

“Of course Beric,” Catelyn was saying. She gave Brienne a rueful smile. “I suppose I’d better rescue Ned.”

“Beric, I thought that commercial was terrific. It was really nice of you to help out Robert like that,” Brienne blurted. But of course it wasn’t the right thing to say. He only got terribly red and mumbled something, and Brienne tried to sink deeper into the chair, turning her face in to the cushion to avoid any further awkwardness on her part. The footsteps of Beric and Catelyn leaving faded behind her.

Brienne drowsily settled deeper into her chair. Honestly, she wasn’t in any rush to go anywhere quickly. The wine had made her feel pleasantly toasty and more than a little sleepy. And at the rate she had been striking out, maybe just staying here was safest. If she were to just close her eyes...

Brienne woke up with a start, feeling like a not insignificant amount of time had passed. Had she missed dinner? Was everyone furious at her? She was about to bounce to her feet and hurry downstairs when a boisterous and distinctively Robert laugh came from below in the library. She frowned and twisted, peeking over the back of her chair. What was Robert doing squirreled away in a library? He was usually the life of the party.

There was another laugh, and Brienne realized it wasn’t Robert at all. It was Steffon Baratheon, and standing next to him SMILING was Tywin Lannister. Brienne reflected that a smiling Tywin Lannister was just as frightening as a non-smiling Tywin Lannister. Really more so. 

They were puffing cigars, and Steffon said something in his Robert-y rumble and Tywin made a sound that could have been a throat clearing or could have been a chuckle.

Brienne fled.

In her her haste to escape the creepy Tywin Lannister look-a-like who did things like SMILE and LAUGH, she nearly flattened someone as she rounded the corner to get to the master staircase.

“Oh I’m—Jaime!” Brienne blurted, her boyfriend’s spring green eyes looking dazedly up at her.

“I always told you that you sweep me off my feet,” he grinned weakly.

She pulled him up, and for a moment they just stood, grinning at each other.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, trying not to sound plaintive.

“I’m glad you found me,” he said simply. “C’mon, we’ll miss the fireworks.”

He threaded his hand into her own and she let him pull her down the grand spiral stairs.

All the guests were being ushered onto the Great Lawn and there was a hush of expectancy across the crowd.

“You were right wench, per usual,” Jaime whispered against her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down the bare arch of her neck.

She looked up at him in dismay, squeezing his hand tighter.

“About your family not liking me? I’m sorry, I think they’re getting to Cersei, but I’ll work harder, I can change their minds, I know I can—“

“What?” Jaime kissed her to cut her off. “I am sure they haven’t thought twice about you. That’s not the Lannister way. I was talking about the wedding.”

“The wedding?” Brienne repeated doubtfully. Surely he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant...

“Cersei is completely ridiculously absurdly in love with that moron and I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner,” Jaime admitted. “I officially give it my blessing.”

Brienne beamed at him. Cersei wasn’t the only ridiculously absurd Lannister here.

“But you’re my idiot,” she kissed him. As his lips melted against hers, a spark illuminated the horizon and then the entire sky exploded into golden light.

“Brienne,” Jaime groaned, breaking the kiss to nibble his way down her neck. “You look gorgeous. This is a delightful dress and I want nothing more than to tear it to pieces.”

She giggled, punch drunk, as he rested his head on her bare shoulder, his fingers teasingly trailing down to her hips.

“Stop, we’re in public.” Another burst, red sparks this time, to punctuate her point.

“Everyone’s looking at the fireworks, wench,” Jaime tightened his hold on her hips and pulled her closer, lifting his head to kiss her again.

“And if it at all affects your decision,” he said drily, when they came up for air. “You wouldn’t BELIEVE what a day I’ve had.”


	20. Jaime (Been Away For So Long 3 of 8)

Once Ned had said it, it seemed so stupidly simple. Tywin Lannister was the architect of this monstrosity of a wedding. Tywin Lannister could undo it. It would be as simple as informing Cersei that there was no need to get married and the board seat at Lannister Corp would be waiting for her no matter what she did.

Without the carrot of the board seat and the stick of family banishment, Cersei would throw Robert over before the day was up. 

But if the Cersei angle was proving ridiculously hard to exploit and there didn’t appear to be a Robert angle, what was the Tywin angle? What was the thing that would make a man not famous for changing his mind, well, change his mind?

And then good old blissfully unaware Ned Stark saved the day again, prattling about childhood friends. Steffon Baratheon. Tywin and Steffon had been childhood friends. And now they weren’t.

All he needed was to get that foghorn of a man in front of his father and there would be fireworks. The metaphorical kind. Hopefully before the literal fireworks, by which point the engagement party would be over.

He wasn’t exactly sure how this hadn’t come up earlier. Clearly Robert had done something to keep his parents out of the picture. But it was child’s play to get Steffon’s cell number from his father’s secretary.

He tried to conjure up Steffon and Cassana in his mind’s eye. Like most of his father’s friends, they hadn’t really been around after his mother’s death when he was ten. Those interminable play dates had dragged on for a few years after that but Steffon and Cassana had become a once-a-year presence at the holiday party. Cassana a light effervescent laugh, a sparkle of jewelry, a strange pang of homesickness for what it would be like to have a mother. Steffon was just rather hearty and loud. A backslapper like his son.

The phone rang and Jaime focused in.

“Steffon Baratheon,” the voice answered and there was an eery moment when he wondered if Robert had managed to get all calls forwarded to his own phone, so alike were their voices. Then he remembered it was Robert, who barely knew how to answer the phone.

“This is Jaime Lannister,” he said smoothly. There was an uncertain pause. “Tywin’s son?”

“Of course! Sorry the service here in Lorath is just too terrible to be believed! You’d think they would have some kind of civilization up here but you’d be wrong.”

Jaime laughed mechanically along with Steffon’s guffaw.

“I just wanted to make sure you’ll be back in time for the engagement party,” he said sweetly.

“You’re engaged? Congratulations! My goodness, you youngsters grow up so fast! What are you now, twenty?”

“Twenty three,” Jaime said, trying to conceal his smile. Oh Robert, you poor sweet imbecile. Did you really think you’d get away with this? “But it’s not me engaged. It’s your son Robert. To my sister. The party’s this Saturday. You will come, won’t you?”

The line had gone dead.

What did they say in cyvasse? Oh that’s right. Check mate.

He arrived at the party in a good mood. How to celebrate? Champagne. Lots of champagne.

He strode up to the bar, and was surprised to see the very person to whom he owed this coup de grace, namely one Eddard Stark. 

“Stark! How the hells are ya?” He grinned and gestured at the bartender for some champagne.

“My life is over,” Ned said gravely. 

A bundle of laughs was Eddard Stark.

“Tell me,” Jaime said magnanimously. He considered that they might even be even for the whole ‘throwing him under the bus during the Aerys fiasco’ thing.

“Catelyn has barely said a word to me since we’ve gotten here! Three different people have come up to me and given me their condolences on our impending divorce! This is all Hoster Tully’s doing, I know it! What am I supposed to do?” Ned looked up plaintively.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Jaime clasped his shoulder firmly. “Get some liquid courage in you. Then march over to Hoster Tully, accuse him of sabotaging your marriage in front of everybody and tell him what you really think of him.”

“You think that’ll work?” Ned said uncertainly.

“Of course,” Jaime kept a straight face. “Hoster Tully is a bully. The only thing bullies respond to is force. You need to show him that you are a man to be reckoned with, that you won’t back down. And if you make that clear, he’ll crumble like cheese.”

“If you say so,” Ned frowned.

“I do,” Jaime gave him a dazzling smile.

There. NOW they were even.

He reached for the phone that he’d put on the bar when he’d waved to flag the bartender down, but his grasping hand met only the bar top. Odd. He could have sworn it was right there. He’d wanted to text his wench and then gotten distracted by the champagne. He checked his pockets. Not there either. He did have it before didn’t he? Had he left it in the car? Hells, how was he supposed to find Brienne now?

He scanned the huge party slightly despondently looking for a familiar blonde head bobbing above the crowd. No luck.

Jaime resolved to find Tyrion and borrow his phone. Tyrion at least was usually easy to find. Jaime headed for the wine cellar.

Unlike Eddard Stark, Tyrion seemed blissfully out of it. He was lying on his back on the floor, head resting on his laced together hands.

Jaime snorted at him and proceeded to lay down next to him, adopting the same pose.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here? Overwhelmed by the beauty of so much wine in one place?”

“It is beautiful,” Tyrion agreed, his mismatched eyes twinkling. “But I will have you know that I am reflecting on weightier matters.”

“Oh?” Jaime rolled on his side to regard his younger brother.

“As of tonight,” Tyrion began dramatically, “I am a man.”

“You don’t mean...” Jaime’s brow furrowed.

“I had sex. Right about where you’re lying.”

Jaime hastily stood and brushed himself off.

“Congrats! Was it everything you hoped it’d be?” He teased.

“I think I’m in love,” Tyrion said dreamily.

“You’re not in love,” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I am. Her name is Tysha Crofter, and she’s 21 and she works as the third assistant sommelier at the Crossroads Inn.”

“What are her interests?” Jaime asked wryly.

Tyrion shrugged serenely.

“Sex in wine cellars, presumably. Oh shoot, that reminds me. You haven’t seen Tyrek have you?”

“Which one is Tyrek?” Jaime frowned. “Martyn’s brother?”

“No that’s Willem, Tyrek is Tygett’s youngest. Brienne left him in my charge when I saw Tysha beckoning. So naturally...”

“Naturally you took the child to an adult to be looked after?” Jaime ventured hopefully.

Tyrion shook his head indulgently.

“Naturally I told him we were going to play hide and seek so he better find a really REALLY good hiding spot.”

Jaime opened his mouth and then shut it. Then he replayed that conversation.

“You’ve seen Brienne?” 

“Yup,” Tyrion shrugged. 

“Which way did she go?”

“Um that way I think. She was running around with a list of instructions from Cersei,” Tyrion shook his head.

“And how is our beloved sister?” Jaime asked, feeling pleased that he was clearly close to catching up with Brienne.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her yet. Not like her to not be the center of attention,” Tyrion said.

“Probably wants to make an entrance. For what father’s paying for her dress, she’s going to arrive dripping in peacock feathers and diamonds,” Jaime smiled wryly.

“Well she should get a move on, I don’t want to miss her entrance, but I should really be...”

“Finding Tyrek,” Jaime supplied, right as Tyrion said, “Finding Tysha.

“Jaime,” Tyrion said pleadingly. “I’m in love.”

Jaime ground his teeth. 

Instead of using Tyrion’s phone to call Brienne and arrange a rendez-vous in some secret hideaway (the old treehouse came to mind), he began methodically working his way through the bowels of Casterly Rock, wondering where he would hide if he were a small snotty child like all his cousins inevitably seemed to be.

It didn’t help that Casterly Rock was full of nooks and crannies and about a billion different wings, each with their own maze of corridors. After an hour of this, Jaime was starting to think he was going mad. He had an eery sensation of being watched, and glared at the hundredth portrait of a Lannister relative he passed, just to make it clear that he was not intimidated by them and their stupid noses. 

“Tyrek?” He poked his head up onto the second floor landing of the east wing, where all the bedrooms were. A child of approximately the correct age greeted him, but was both the wrong gender and coloring.

“Hullo Jeyne,” Jaime tried to smile at his family butler’s daughter. “Have you seen my cousin Tyrek? About your height, and though my memory is spotty, I would guess blond hair, green eyes and rather smug looking?”

Jeyne shook her head.

“Well if you do, give me a shout,” Jaime sighed. He was getting rather anxious to get back to the party proper and make sure the Baratheons got ample face time with his father. How much harm could one kid really get up to?

There was a rustling sound from a bedroom in the back.

Gotcha.

Jaime eased into the guest suite and looked around suspiciously. He was in the sitting room, although there was a bedroom attached to that and a bathroom beyond that. 

He scanned the three rooms, trying to determine where the sound would have come from. Was that bed skirt just a little crooked? Like maybe somebody had slipped under it?

Jaime started to advance stealthily toward the bed.

“I know what you did,” the all-too-familiar growl came from behind him.

Jaime spun to see Stannis leaning in the doorway. Worse, leaning while holding the guest suite key in one hand.

“Have you been following me?” Jaime asked lightly, edging back toward the sitting room.

“For some time,” Stannis said, deliberately locking and unlocking the door with the key, watching the bolt turn in and out.

“Freaking shadow assassin,” Jaime tried to joke while getting close enough to spring.

“Bringing my parents into this was over the line. But in a way, I’m glad you did,” Stannis glared at him.

“Oh?” Just five steps closer and he could jump for it.

“It’s made me re-evaluate my feelings on the wedding. I’ve come to stop—“

Jaime leaped for the door only to smash into it as Stannis slammed it in his face. He shrugged off the stinging pain and grabbed for the knob—only KA-CHUNK, the lock turned.

“FUCK! STANNIS YOU PRICK!”

Jaime took a few steps back and took another running charge at the door. It shuddered but did not give. He prepared to do it again, only for there to be a horrendous screeching sound from the hall.

“What are you doing?!” Jaime snapped.

“Moving... a... chest,” Stannis huffed, “in front of the door. Now try to knock it down all you want to.”

Jaime repeatedly kicked the door, just to prove that he wasn’t giving up.

“I think some time for reflection might do you good,” Stannis said firmly from the other side. 

“You really are the worst ally ever,” Jaime groused.

“Please. I prefer to think of us as neutral at best.”

“ARG!!!” Jaime threw himself against the door again. Not because it would help, just because it made him feel mildly better.

“Goodbye Jaime,” Stannis said and Jaime heard the footsteps receding down the hallway.

He gave the door a last sullen kick. Fuck, he could probably rely on his father and Steffon to be at each other’s throats without his assistance, but how could that miserable stick in the mud Stannis keep him from Brienne’s company all night?!

There was a soft sneeze from under the bed.

“Right,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Out you go—“ he reached under, grabbed a handful of blond hair and yanked.

“Ow!” Said a fully adult sized human, grabbing at his wrist.

“What the hell!” Jaime yelped and scrambled back.

Beric Dondarrion crawled sheepishly out from under the bed.

“Hi Jaime, I’m sorry to um intrude.”

Jaime ran a hand through his own hair, considering just pulling it out entirely.

“What are you doing under the bed of one of our guest rooms?!”

Beric cleared his throat.

“I realize this seems unusual but there was this young girl well... stalking me. It was making me rather uncomfortable, so I decided to lose her.”

Jaime flashed back on Jeyne Westerling, wandering the hallway by herself. He groaned.

“I don’t suppose you have a cell phone?”

Beric shook his head glumly.

“Thoros made me give mine to him before the party, I’ve been having some um let’s call them anxiety issues? He thinks checking social media on my phone all the time is making it worse.”

Come to think of it, Dondarrion did look rather twitchy, even for him.

Jaime sighed. Great. He couldn’t even be alone to sulk in peace. Instead he had earnest goody-two-shoes Beric to be like ‘why would you ever try to deliberately sabotage your sister’s wedding, that’s a horrible thing to do!’ Wimp. Jamie sighed again louder.

“Do you need to talk about something?” Beric asked tentatively.

See?! People just couldn’t let him be.

“Well since you won’t stop badgering me, here’s what’s going on,” Jaime began, before proceeding to fill Beric in on the details.

“Why would you ever try to deliberately sabotage your sister’s wedding, that’s a horrible thing to do!” Beric exclaimed.

Jaime glared.

“First Stannis agrees with me!! Or did agree with me. Traitor. Second, I’m trying to save my sister! How can that be a bad thing?!”

“Have you actually tried to talk to her about this?” Beric asked.

“Yes! I’ve hinted in a thousand different ways that Robert is some kind of genetic experiment that escaped from the monkey lab. She never picks up on it!”

“No, I mean, have you said, ‘Cersei, I’m worried you’re getting married for the wrong reasons’?!”

“What do you know! You’re an only child!” Jaime snapped. Okay, it was settled. He would be damned if he had to spend this entire evening stuck with Beric Dondarrion, the boy on their high school football team that used to volunteer them to do more laps in practice.

He charged the door again, this time taking a running start.

“Oof!” He grunted as bounced off. Again. And again. And again.

“I wish Thoros were here,” Beric said sadly.

Jaime took a breather from breaking down the door (as he was rather dizzy and his shoulder was starting to hurt), to cast Beric a withering glare.

“As far as I’m aware, Asshai’s only super power is inhuman alcohol tolerance. Would you care to explain how that would be useful?” Jaime scowled. He hoped Beric wasn’t one of those people that was constantly pining after their significant other...

“He can also pick locks,” Beric said bluntly.

“Oh,” Jaime said stymied and collapsed on the floor in defeat. He wondered what Brienne was doing.

“I think you’re being too hard on Robert,” Beric volunteered pensively from where he was now lying on the bed.

“I’m really not,” Jaime gave back, still staring at the ceiling. “Nobody has ever been hard on him in his stupidly charmed life.”

“Maybe he’s grown as a person?”

“Said the guy who just got dragged into a bar brawl with him like a month ago,” Jaime snarked. Grown as a person... maybe in the gut.

Beric didn’t even used to like Robert! This was a post-Thoros development, and Jaime did not approve at all. He wasn’t even sure if, had he actually cared, he would really approve of their relationship. Not Beric being gay, because when he thought about that, it really explained a great deal. But Beric was wound as tightly as they came, and Thoros was the sort to go with the flow even if it was off a waterfall. Kind of like Cersei and... NO! STOP IT!

Jaime jumped to his feet to get his brain off the wedding. Things were fine, he had won, game over, the end.

Beric was eyeing him warily.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy. You know what they say, whenever the Father closes a door, he...” Jaime trailed off.

“Opens a window?” Beric finished helpfully. Then followed Jaime’s stare. “Oh. Oh dear. I don’t think that’s a good...”

Jaime ran to the window and began struggling to lift it. This guest suite was rarely used (as it would require Tywin Lannister to host guests), and the window gave part of the way, but no more. Jaime looked at the six inches of space dubiously. He stuck his head out the window and looked up. The latticework on this side of the house had been drenched with flowers, and they were preventing the window from going further. If someone could just get out and clear them, someone significantly skinnier than himself, he would be able to climb out and shimmy across to his own room to safety.

Jaime turned back to Beric. Beric swallowed.

“I think if we just wait, someone will eventually find—“

“I think I see Jeyne Westerling! Shall I call for help?” Jaime cut him off. Beric reddened.

“No? Okay, out you go,” Jaime shooed him toward the window.

Beric stuck his head out cautiously. Sure enough, with enough twisting, and some helpful threats from Jaime, he managed to clamber out until he was clinging to the trellises, trembling like a leaf.

“What are you just sitting there for, you need to clear the flowers that are jamming the window shut,” Jaime said impatiently.

“I am scared of heights,” Beric ground out, still shaking.

Jaime blinked. Well that was inconvenient.

“It’s one story Beric, and there’s half a botanical garden of bushes down there. If you fell, you’d be fine,” he said. He was pretty sure he was right. “Now get moving!”

Beric slowly managed to get himself high enough to start pulling away the flowers. Jaime tried to be patient and supportive.

“Before I get old, Dondarrion!”

Finally, the window gave and Jaime shoved it upwards. Freedom! Stay strong Brienne, I’m on my way!

“Woah! Where do you think you’re going?!” Beric yelped. Jaime stared at him.

“To my bedroom, which as discussed, is three windows over?”

Honestly, he thought Dondarrion was supposed to be smart.

“It won’t hold both our weight! You have to let me go first!”

“I can’t let you go first,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “The party will be over at the rate you’re going. Stop worrying, it’ll be fine.”

He swung out one leg, tested his foothold, then swung out the other.

Several times happened simultaneously.

There was a creaking snap as the wood of the trellises gave, and with a groan, the entire structure below them toppled outward like a falling domino. 

Jaime let out a thoroughly undignified squawk as he started to fall, grabbing the first thing at hand.

Beric let out an equally undignified eep! as Jaime grabbed him around the waist, feet kicking wildly as they dangled.

There was a pause as they took stock.

“Close call,” Jaime said brightly.

Beric’s pants began to slide downward.

“Oh no,” Beric whimpered.

“Crap,” Jaime sighed, as his grip went from Beric’s waist, to his butt, to his knees. He looked up at Beric staring down at him in mute horror. “Cute briefs? Like the purple lightning bolts.”

And then the pants slid over his shoes, and Jaime had a split second to reflect that he wished he’d chosen better final words before he crashed into the shrubs.

There was a second while Jaime assessed the situation.

“Um Jaime?” Beric whisper-called. Like a dozen people wouldn’t have heard the entire flower wall collapsing.

“Present,” Jaime waved a feeble hand. “See, I told you, nothing to worry about.”

He struggled out of the bushes, ripping his own tuxedo a bit in the process. He plucked a twig out of his hair.

“Now were I you,” Jaime squinted up at the still dangling Dondarrion, “I would scamper over to my room before people come and see you in your skivvies. I’ll just fold up your pants and leave them here,” he patted a clear patch of ground.

“Can’t you just bring them up to your room?!” Beric hissed.

“I mean I could,” Jaime scratched his head. “But I really need to find Brienne. Sorry Beric. Maybe next time.”

“What next time?!” Beric shouted, before he remembered he was trying to be quiet.

Jaime gave a mock salute and walked toward the main wing, whistling a jaunty tune.

Sure his ankle hurt a little bit, and there were bits of twigs in his hair, and his outfit had seen better days but Brienne’s gorgeous legs in a fancy dress were worth it. Nothing was going to stop him now.


	21. Jaime (Been Away For So Long 4 of 8)

Jaime was looking for Brienne when he turned a corner and saw Cersei standing with her back to him, hands on her hips, glaring at a helicopter with the Stormsend Shipping logo on it. He slowed down, a slight smile twitching across his face. Well, maybe just a brief moment to savor his victory.

“How’re tricks?” He pulled his sister into a one armed hug. He would have kissed the top of her head, but her hair was set into some kind of sparkly bejeweled crown. He settled for hip-checking her.

“I have to move that helicopter,” Cersei squinted at it stoically, barely registering his presence.

“That’s right, I saw the Baratheons came!” Jaime tried to sound innocently amused.

“Hmmm. It’s where I have the surprise fireworks display tonight. But if I tell Steffon Baratheon he has to move his stupid chopper for the fireworks, that... that... WOMAN will find some way to ruin them!”

“I’m sure somebody around here knows how to fly a helicopter,” Jaime said blithely. “Not in Robert’s skill set?”

Cersei made another noncommittal noise, then finally broke her staring contest with the aircraft.

“I have to think it over. But in the meantime, I’m glad I found you. Where have you been?!”

“Oh here and there and locked away,” Jaime flapped a hand airily. Cersei gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Well you’ve done it now. Aunt Genna is furious that you’ve left your date unattended. She says it’s the height of rudeness and your manners reflect poorly on the entire family. She was becoming rather apoplectic on the subject when I left,” Cersei informed him.

“Remind me why you want to name biscuit after that harridan?” Jaime snarked to conceal the stab of guilt he felt. He was coming Brienne! Even if he had to brave a thousand Stannis Baratheons and Beric Dondarrions and yes, Tyrion Lannisters.

Oh right.

“Our brother just lost his virginity in the wine cellar. He says he’s in love,” Jaime told Cersei.

“I’ll take care of it,” Cersei shook her head at the notion. “She’s completely unsuitable for him. She didn’t even know what a white burgundy was. Oh. Speaking of family. I need to give you something. It’s in my bedroom.”

“Right now?” Jaime inched away, toward the crowd milling before him, hoping to spot Brienne and grab her before he was kidnapped.

Cersei put her hand on his arm, and Jaime tried not to wince as her nails bit in.

“Right now,” she said sweetly, and the Lannister twins proceeded back into the house.

“I know the timing‘s not the best,” she said absently as she shut the door to her bedroom. It was the same pastel pink he remembered. Now that he thought about it, he suspected she’d chosen a matching shade for her nursery.

What he did not expect was for her to stand on her bed and start unscrewing the air vent panel.

“I think that’s a little small for you to escape out of,” he joked. He was something of a recent expert in the field.

“Oh hush, just hold on a second—“ she reached in and retrieved a fuchsia child’s safe.

“Hey!” Jaime did a double take. “I know that safe! I got it for you when we were seven because you always insisted on being the banker in Monopoly!”

“Yep,” Cersei agreed. She spun the lock to a series of numbers too quickly for Jamie to register and there was a click as it opened. Then she carefully pulled a single hair out of the mechanism and placed it on her pillow.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” Jaime chuckled. It had been her favorite gift that year, more even than the miniature pony or the custom leather handbag from a famous designer.

“I keep my treasures in here,” Cersei patted the safe fondly.

“Your treasures?” Jaime asked.

“You know, like my secret precious things that I don’t want anyone else to ever find,” Cersei said as if that were a normal thing people did.

“Right,” Jaime nodded. Sometimes with Cersei, it was best to play along. “Your treasures.”

“I want you to have this,” Cersei plucked something out of the box and held it out to him.

It was his mother’s ring.

“What?” He said stupidly, staring at the old-fashioned diamond, the well worn band, a piece of jewelry that he’d once memorized every last scratch of. He remembered sitting in the hospital, holding his mother’s hand. Seeing that ring sparkle, like Joanna Lannister had sparkled, even at the end.

“I’m not saying now or anything, gods can you imagine?! At my own engagement party?! I’d have to hire someone to have you killed. But you never come back to Casterly Rock if you can help it and I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to give this to you. So someday. When you’re ready. I think she’d really like her, you know.”

“Who?” Jaime said, still staring at the ring.

“Brienne,” Cersei rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I think mother would really like Brienne.”

“Oh,” Jaime swallowed and looked down so she wouldn’t see that his eyes had unexpectedly teared. “I know she would. I mean... thank you.”

He crushed her into a real hug, hair and makeup be damned. His sister, his twin, his best friend. He would do terrible things to make her happy. Not that he would ever say that of course.

“You’re not bad,” he said instead.

“I am perfect,” she scoffed, and then walked over to the mirror to fix her braid.

Jaime used the moment to peek inside the safe.

There was a picture of the two of them on a swing set, grinning with no front teeth. He chuckled, remembering how embarrassed Cersei had been and how he’d knocked out his own baby teeth to cheer her up. 

There was a set of earrings his mother had loved, a picture of all of them when Tyrion had just been born. A plastic princess tiara she’d worn every day for a year. A Barbie he didn’t recognize—

“What’s this?” He lifted the Barbie to for her to see.

“Present from Robert. Seventeenth birthday,” she glanced over her shoulder and went back to the mirror.

—a picture of her and Robert wearing silly fake mustaches at prom. A clipping from the Aerie’s school newspaper, showing them dancing at some sorority social. A letter in Robert’s stupid childish scrawl. A soda can tab.

“How about this?” He lifted the tab.

“Oh,” Cersei plucked it from him and put it back in the safe. “Robert proposed with that. He’s so cheesy sometimes, it’s awful.”

She closed the safe rapidly, and shoved it back into the air vent without looking at him.

Jaime blinked. Fuck.

“Cersei,” he began slowly. “Do you love Robert?”

“Of course,” she said flippantly.

“No, c’mon, I’m being serious. Is he the one?”

She looked at him, and blushed, and looked away again.

“The one? You’re so sentimental Jaime, it’s absurd,” she said, coolly disdainful, although she would still not look at him.

“Seven hells, you do!” Jaime sat down on her bed with a thump. “I thought it was just sex!” Oh gods. This meant Brienne was right. 

“Of course it’s just sex!” She protested. 

And not just Brienne. It meant Beric was right. 

“You LOVE him,” Jaime accused, drawing out the word in a childish sing-song to disguise his dawning horror. Because oh no.

“No stop it, I do not!” She threw a pillow at him.

It meant Stannis was right.

“You want to marry Robert and have billions of Baratheon babies!” Jaime gasped. Awful great lummoxes like Robert. Sullen sour grammarians like Stannis. Melodramatic little crybabies like Renly. It boggled the mind.

“Stop it! You’re being ridiculous!” Cersei stomped her foot. “Father is forcing me to marry him, I don’t have a choice!”

“But if you did have a choice,” Jaime leaned forward, pointing with an accusing finger. “You would choose him.”

“I... I,” Cersei stammered. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

And that was as close to a declaration of love as Cersei Lannister would ever get. To him, anyway.

“Huh,” he sat back.

“He makes me happy,” Cersei said finally, softly. 

Jaime swallowed, stood up and hugged her again.

“He is so lucky,” he said firmly. Then he took a deep breath and tried not to gag. “And I’m happy for you.” 

There. Done. He really would do terrible things for her.

Then he exited the room, twisting the ring nervously in his pocket. Because it was possible that maybe he wasn’t quite done. It was conceivable, that from a certain angle, he had perhaps made a bit of a mess of things. That in some lights, one might come to the conclusion that he had some serious smoothing over to do.

First he stopped in his father’s study. No Tywin.

Next he stopped in his father’s bedroom. No Tywin.

Third he stopped in the library, and he saw his father pouring a glass of scotch and he almost fell to his knees in relief. He wasn’t too late, they hadn’t had their blow-out fight yet, he could grab his father and say.... say... say something, even if he didn’t know what he would say yet and Jaime took another step into the library and then paused.

Tywin was pouring a second glass of scotch.

Jaime stared as his father gave it to Steffon Baratheon and they clinked glasses.

“To a Baratheon-Lannister dynasty!! Long may they reign!” Steffon toasted boisterously, and Tywin made a sort of exhale noise that could, in a certain light, coming from another person be a laugh... Nope.

Jaime hurried out of the library to compose himself. 

Was it really possible that despite his best efforts, there was nothing to fix at all? It was unstoppable this wedding. It steamrolled even forces of nature like Tywin Lannister.

So wow. He was in the clear. He could go back to the party and find Brienne and…

Robert Baratheon slid around the corner, his dress shoes apparently providing less traction than he was used to. He focused in on the library, and saw Tywin Lannister facing his father. Jaime could almost see the gears in his brain turning, slowly, painfully, arriving at the conclusion that he was doomed.

Robert gulped, squared his shoulders, and…

“Whoah,” Jaime grabbed his arm before he could charge into the library and make an ass of himself. Well, more of an ass of himself.

“They are by some miracle getting along,” Jaime informed him. “And if you walk in now, you might see my father smiling, and it has been known to turn weaker spirits to stone.”

Robert blinked at him.

Jaime mentally facepalmed.

“Nobody is in trouble,” he explained slowly, as he might to a child. “Don’t go in or you might ruin it.”

“Why should I listen to you?” Robert raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done nothing but try to sabotage this wedding from the beginning.”

Um okay. Fair.

“Yes. But I was,” Jaime coughed. “Wrong,” he added under his breath.

“I didn’t catch that,” Robert tilted his head.

Jaime scowled, scanning his face suspiciously for signs of the lie. As always, it was innocently blank. 

“I have spoken to my sister. I think, for quite unfathomable reasons, she might actually like you. So… you know. I’m done trying to mess things up for you. And for what it’s worth, if we’re going to be family, we’re going to be family. That means something to me.”

A goofy grin broke across Robert’s face. Jaime had one second to regret initiating this conversation before Robert had crushed him into a bear hug.

“I knew you’d come around! This’ll be great! Wait… do you want to come to my stag party? You don’t have to say yes. You know, just think about it. Only it’s going to be amazing. We’re staying at a palace. Ned’s got everything arranged! There’s going to be Dornish wines and Dornish food and Dornish women and…”

Jaime, who was having the breath slowly squeezed out of him, frantically hit Robert on the arm to try and tap out of whatever this strange outburst of happy violence was happening.

“Oh, sorry,” Robert dropped him. Jaime wheezed slightly, feeling his ribs. One twinged angrily. Ouch. Add a bruised rib to his list of injuries for the evening?

“Well?” Robert asked hopefully. What was he talking about? Jaime chanced a nod.

“YES! It’s going to be the…”

Oh no…

“BEST! STAG! EVER!”

Dear gods, what had he done?

“I can’t believe this is all working out. This is great,” Robert beamed. “Who’d have thought Tywin would actually make peace with my dad. I’d have assumed he poisoned the whiskey. Or had like a sniper or a crossbowman up in the balcony waiting to take a shot.”

Jaime had been mostly tuning him out, until that last comment. Ridiculous. Just Robert being his normal comic-book happy self. His father wouldn’t do that. 

“Like that total creep he took to break into my apartment in the middle of the night.”

All the same.

“Or maybe he’s rigged the helicopter to explode when they leave? Like an Aerys thing?”

Jaime considered that there was no harm in checking.

“I’ve got to go… do something,” he mumbled.

Robert waved a cheerful goodbye, and Jaime made his escape, hurrying up the stairs because really the more he thought about it the more it seemed like something his father would maybe—

“Oof,” he ran straight into someone and landed hard on his butt. He looked up.

Brienne blinked back down at him, her sky blue eyes round in surprise. She was wearing a slip of a dress in a peachy color that just hinted at nude, and Jaime followed the lines of the dress helplessly downwards toward the miles of legs below. She pulled him up and he resisted the urge to push her against the staircase and kiss her senseless. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” she breathed, and dear gods those lips were made to be kissed.

“I’m glad you found me,” he grinned, only thinking of getting her somewhere secluded and dark. “C’mon, we’ll miss the fireworks.”

“And I can’t even do that right,” he finished his tale of woe, as people around them cheered for another crackle of light and shower of sparks. “We walked straight into the thick of things!”

“Maybe this is karma,” Brienne fought a smile.

“Pfff,” Jaime flapped a hand. “Things turned out fine. Stannis clearly built some kind of Tywin Lannister robot and has locked my father in a dungeon somewhere until the wedding is over.”

“Shouldn’t you rescue him then?” Brienne teased, playing along.

“I’d rather rescue you,” Jaime smirked, “from this terrible den of debauchery. Come milady, take my hand.” 

“I don’t want to miss the fireworks,” Brienne protested, but followed him all the same, giggling as they stumbled through the darkness, their path only periodically illuminated by the sky above.

“We’ll have a great view of the fireworks, and when they’re over, it’s secluded enough that we can make our own,” Jaime promised, dipping his voice into a growl and pulling her along. Where was it, where was it... here it was.

“Up you go, my love,” he bowed gallantly. Brienne squinted dubiously at the rope ladder, before kicking off her heels and starting up. Of course he had to start up immediately below her, so he could kiss her ankle, her calf, the inside of her knee. He licked a long trail up her thigh, the chiffon of the dress only the gauziest of deterrents to going higher still.

“Jaime!” Brienne moaned, sitting at the top, her eyes fluttered shut. 

Jaime took another two steps up, so he could better work her dress off with one hand as the other hand went further still, curling and...

“Please don’t stop on our account,” Thoros Asshai drawled sarcastically from where he was sitting in the corner.

Brienne yelped, drawing her legs away from Jaime and up against her chest. Suddenly bereft, he looked forlornly. Thoros was facing the great lawn, swinging his legs off the side of the platform. Next to him, Melisandre Asshai was lifting her head slightly to accept a joint from Oberyn Martell. All three had briefly paused in what they were doing, and the next crackle of light across their faces revealed they were all staring, ranging from amused to intrigued.

“Seriously, you shouldn’t stop,” Melisandre Asshai’s sly smile was dimly illuminated by the end of the blunt she was holding from where she was lying on the floor. She blew a puff of smoke at them languidly before passing it backward over her head to her brother. Brienne gave a slight cough as the familiar vaguely pungent smell of weed washed over them. 

“Unless you’d like some company,” Oberyn Martell purred.

“No, um sorry, we just came for the er… view,” Brienne stammered, her skin flushing beautifully.

“Lannister’s view in particular looked exquisite,” Oberyn flashed her a perfectly white smile, as if he too were enjoying her blush.

Jaime growled and clambered the rest of the way up to position himself between Brienne and certain annoyingly cocky Dornish snakes who would keep their eyes to themselves unless they wanted to lose them in a horrifically bloody fashion.

There was a series of explosions across the sky, gold and silver, and Brienne rested her head on his shoulder. Jaime put his arm around her and tried not to sulk.

“This is not how I imagine this evening going,” he whispered to her, even as he swiped the joint from Thoros. 

“Karma,” Brienne whispered back, and he blew a puff of smoke into her face as retaliation.

“There’s no such thing as karma,” Jaime retorted haughtily.

“Stannis and I had sex for the first time under fireworks,” Melisandre was saying, tilting her face back to admire them.

“Gross,” Thoros said.

“Tell me more,” Oberyn twisted to look at her.

“Or don’t,” Thoros offered.

“It was New Year’s Eve,” Melisandre smiled mischievously, ignoring her brother. “On the hood of Jaime’s car.”

“WHAT?!”


	22. Beric (Been Away For So Long 5 of 8)

Beric squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the fifteen to twenty foot drop below him. Tried not to think about the distinctly breezy feeling between his legs. Tried not to think about how that giant crash of the trellises would have staff running any second.

All he had to do was clamber over a couple feet to where the next window was and pop in.

Or maybe he would slip, fall and sustain a horrendous injury. Again. And they could find his mangled half-naked body in the rubble.

Beric gritted his teeth and forced himself to open his eyes. With great effort, he scooted himself one rung over. There, that wasn’t so hard. Then another. Then another.

He had reached a portion of the trellises that had managed to survive Jaime Lannister, and he slid his feet into the rungs gratefully. Maybe things were finally turning around.

The distinct sound of voices floating from around the corner caught his ear. Or not.

Beric scrambled to the window, prior fears vanishing when faced with the all-consuming imperative of not being caught at a fancy dress party in purple lightning bolt undies. The window thankfully opened easily, although it might have just been the adrenaline lending him superhuman strength. He flung himself through and hit the carpet in a dive and roll, just as two chatty workmen came around the corner to inspect the damage.

Beric allowed himself to take a deep breath. For the first time in several hours, he was finally, mercifully alone.

He was used to being alone. He had no siblings and had struggled for most of his life to make friends. His one previous relationship had been with a guy who was in love with someone else, and that was really its own special brand of loneliness. 

Solitude could be comforting. There weren’t expectations for one. Nobody to disappoint. 

Then Thoros had come along, and dragged him from that little half-life which had been cozy in its own way, but also painfully dull. Life with Thoros was never dull. In fact, Beric smiled ruefully to himself, sometimes it was rather too exciting.

How on earth Robert getting married to Cersei had managed to upend his own life, he honestly had no idea. He had just been trying to be a good friend when Robert asked him to be in that stupid commercial. Wasn’t saying yes the right thing to do?

Beric had been sixteen when he’d had his motorcycle accident. As far as he was concerned, little good had come from that episode. But one silver (okay maybe more like brass) lining had been that he’d stopped getting attention he’d been quite uncomfortable with in the first place. He’d gotten plenty of stares instead of course (and to this day he couldn’t quite look in the mirror without flinching) but he’d built up walls and walls of self-defense to those.

It was quite another thing to have undergraduate girls giggling as he hurried through the quad on his way to class. He’d had to get a lock for the cubby where he kept his books, lest it look like a flower bomb had gone off. Even some of the law school girls would nudge each other, and the law school boys, particularly Crakehall and his crew, did not like that at all.

“It doesn’t seem to bother you when you’re tending bar with me,” Thoros had said earlier that week counting up their tips so they could split them.

“You’re there to run interference,” Beric said matter of factly. “Plus it feels like it has a point. Like I’m getting something out of all the embarrassment. When I’m just sitting on a bus and some tween is taking photos of me... that is completely pointless,” he finished and flopped back on their bed.

Thoros, having finished divvying up the spoils, proceeded to start sprinkling Beric’s bills on top of him.

“Stop making it rain on me,” Beric rolled on his side to better glare at him. 

“I’m practicing for Sunspear,” Thoros said cheerfully, flicking a ten-dragon note at his nose.

Beric propped himself into a seated position.

“You’re using the money to rent a tuxedo for the engagement party remember?” He said sternly. 

“I was thinking...”

“No.”

“But...”

“No.”

“You’re not even listening!” Thoros said in a joking whine.

“There’s no justification for skipping your friend’s engagement party so you have money for a strip club,” Beric huffed.

“I hate tuxedos,” Thoros pulled a face. “I look like a waiter.”

“Only because you always rent so they don’t fit well. If you bought one...”

“Are you taking me to many fancy parties my lord?” Thoros teased. “Besides, we can both skip. You can’t tell me you’re looking forward to this.”

“Of course not.”

“So let’s stay home. Robert won’t even notice we’re not there,” Thoros wheedled, crawling across the bed to straddle Beric’s lap. And as Beric looked at Thoros’ perfect crooked smile, he really wanted to say yes.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. There can’t be many tween girls in attendance,” is what Beric said instead.

He should have said yes.

For starters, the dry cleaners had misplaced a number of his clothes, most upsettingly his tuxedo. So come Friday, both he and Thoros were at the store to rent tuxedos. 

“See? Waiter vibes,” Thoros said glumly, looking at himself in a mirror.

Beric scowled as he tried on yet another pair of trousers. He knew he was lanky, but it was infuriating that the only sizes that were long enough were for men of much wider girth.

“It’s just for one night,” he said finally. He had no idea whether he was trying to convince himself or Thoros.

Then Saturday morning, he woke up to discover three new fan accounts dedicated to #oneeyedhottie. He groaned.

“You seriously don’t see the humor in this?” Thoros asked drily, looking over his shoulder. “Is that your highschool yearbook photo?”

“Where did they even find it?!” Beric fretted. “And no. I don’t see the humor in being MORE of a freak show.”

“I don’t like it when you say those things,” Thoros wrapped his arms around Beric. “First, I would deck anybody who said that about my boyfriend. So you’re treading on thin ice ser. Second, I have plenty of scars myself.”

Beric turned hastily.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not the scars. I just don’t like people looking at me like I’m something I’m not.”

“Like?”

“I dunno. Somebody to be admired.”

“I admire you,” Thoros said bluntly. “You’re my hero.”

“I think we’ve already proven your judgment is questionable,” Beric noted. When that failed to provoke a smile, he shifted tactics.

“What will make you forget I ever said anything?” He asked, running an idle finger down Thoros’ side, pleased when he got a shiver in response.

“You could...” Thoros broke off as he squirmed away, making a sound of mock exasperation. “You could give me your phone. It’s making you all broody.”

“My life is making me broody,” Beric rolled his eye, but he tossed the phone, and used Thoros’ momentary distraction to pull him close again.

But Thoros might have been on to something, because by the time they had gotten to King’s Landing that evening, his spirits were feeling markedly lifted. In contrast to Thoros, who ground his teeth as yet another person handed him an empty glass.

“Maybe I should just start chucking them into the crowd,” Thoros scowled.

“You will not,” Beric yoinked it from him gently. “I’ll find somewhere to put it down.”

“Okay, I’m going to go stand over there on the lawn where there’s no people to hand me garbage and nobody tries to talk to me about the weather,” Thoros said. “Are you good by yourself?”

“Yup,” Beric said cheerfully. “It’s actually a nice change. You can go off and be all introverted and sulky and I’ll mingle with adults who don’t have that stupid jingle memorized by heart.”

Thoros laughed and flipped him off and Beric smiled fondly as he made his way to the bar.

But of course, no sooner had he set down the empty glass on the bar then he became cognizant of a young girl staring at him. He moved to the garden. Seconds later, she appeared in the tree line, this time slightly closer. Beric swallowed, a little unnerved by her unblinking gaze, and decided to go into the house. Only to hear her soft footfalls trailing eerily behind him.

That he had proceeded to lose her, only to end up locked in a room with Jaime Lannister, only to escape to find himself without pants entirely (he knew the rental tuxedo was too big!) was only indicative of the fact that he was no hero. He was a hapless idiot who screwed everything up. He’d tried to do the chivalrous thing and give that girl the slip without hurting her feelings. Then he’d tried to be a nice person and help Jaime Lannister. And where did all of this trying ever get him?

Beric dusted himself off glumly and looked around. Jaime Lannister’s bedroom had the forlorn look of a room that had not received much use in four or five years. He walked over to the bureau and pulled open a drawer, thinking that while Jaime was an inch or two shorter than him, at this point any pants were better than no...

The drawer was empty.

Beric, with increasing anxiety, began to pull out the other drawers. Empty, empty, empty. He checked the closet. Empty.

Fuck. He sat on the foot of the bed heavily. He knew Jaime hadn’t lived at Casterly Rock since high school, but he’d assumed he would have some clothing left lying around. 

Okay think. Brienne’s suitcase in the corner would be of no help. Who lived here? Tyrion was still here—Beric shook his head at the idea of trying to use any of Tyrion’s clothing—and... Tywin. 

Tywin Lannister was Jaime’s height, so they would be short on him, but he was also thin. They’d probably fit better than any of Jaime’s old clothes. All the same... Beric winced at the idea of having to explain to the host of this party what exactly Beric was doing running around in his trousers.

But it would only be for the ten minutes it took to get down to the garden and retrieve his own. The odds of running into Tywin were infinitesimally small.

Beric took a deep breath and opened the door, poking his head out. He looked left, he looked right. The hall appeared abandoned.

He edged out. Okay first question. Where exactly was Tywin’s bedroom?

After several wrong turns and dead ends, Beric heard voices. Quickly he withdrew into what appeared to be a linen closet and held his breath.

“It’s just too vexing for words! I can’t believe none of the staff here can fly a helicopter! I would have thought that at least Westerling...”

“Leave the poor man alone. Just accept that you’re going to have to ask Steffon to repark his vehicle. Maybe you can make an announcement. ‘Will the owner of the corporate helicopter obnoxiously parked on the lawn please move their vehicle?’”

“Everything’s a joke with you! Look, can I at least borrow your phone?”

“Fine, here.”

Beric peeked through the crack in the door to see Cersei typing out a text, an experience of concentration on her face as Tyrion tapped his foot impatiently. He briefly considered poking his head out and asking for assistance, but then considered that every time Cersei had involved herself in his life it had gotten worse. He kept his mouth shut and watched as they slowly ambled down the hallway.

“Who you texting?” Tyrion asked when Cersei tossed his phone back.

“Just responding to Jaime,” Cersei said.

Beric considered that when last seen, Jaime didn’t even have a phone. He decided to count to a hundred after Cersei left.

Finally he got a break, when he saw the cavernous oaken doors of what could only be the master bedroom.

If bedrooms were windows to the soul, Tywin’s soul was dark and rather minimalist.

Beric mentally apologized to the wedding photo of Tywin and his late wife, the silent witnesses to his crime. He opened a closet and... voila! 

Beric wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything more beautiful.

Less than a minute later, he was at the very least decent, even if he also looked like he expected an imminent flood.

Being somewhat fully dressed turned out to be a relief, because the aforementioned oaken doors unexpectedly started to open.

For the second time in perhaps twenty minutes, Beric found himself hastily darting into a closet.

Tywin Lannister slowly let himself in, and Beric tried to retreat even further into the closet. 

Please don’t let him find me, Beric begged a universe that had never been particularly kind to him. Dear gods, I can’t go like this. Cowering in a closet in the man’s trousers.

Tywin, instead of turning to the closet, went to the bathroom. Beric heard the faucet turn on briefly, a splashing sound. He peered through the crack in the door. 

There was a second of nothing, and then Tywin returned to the bedroom, his tie and cuffs unloosened. He sat on the foot of the bed heavily, staring at the same photo that Beric had noticed earlier.

“She’s your daughter,” Tywin huffed at length. “What am I supposed to do here?”

He’s talking to his dead wife. Please don’t let him find me cowering in his closet wearing his trousers listening to him talk to his dead wife. They’ll never even find my body.

“Part of me wants to just drop it. Steffon was my first friend. He warned me about Aerys and I chose money, I chose power. I chose incorrectly. I think... I think had you been there I might have done things differently. But it you weren’t. You died. And fuck that asshole, he wasn’t there. He betrayed me first, you know he did.”

There was a long pause.

“If you were here, you’d tell me to get over myself,” Tywin sighed. “Gods I can hear you in my ear sometimes. I just wish I could get some kind of sign, that this will be okay, that I’m not making more of a godawful mess of my children’s lives than they have already done on their own.”

There was a longer pause. One that seemed to last an eternity. Beric swallowed, screwed his eyes shut, and then kicked the back wall of the closet hard.

The echo of that thump seemed to last even longer than an eternity.

“Damned mice. I’m calling the exterminator tomorrow,” Tywin grumbled. But maybe it was Beric’s imagination, only he didn’t seem quite as sad.

Beric counted to a thousand after Tywin left.

Thankfully this time he knew where he was going. Outside, outside and over to the east wing. And there, somewhere on the ground amidst the rubble, would be his pants.

He hurried out through the maze of Casterly Rock, a mansion whose floor plan he was now unfortunately and intimately familiar with. He cut across the second floor, smiling to see Brienne Tarth and Catelyn Stark, sequestered in a reading room laughing together. He slipped by, not wanting to intrude on their moment, even less as he was currently dressed.

Upon reaching the outdoors, Beric was momentarily disoriented by how dark it had gotten. People were having dinner now, he could hear the clink of silverware. He hoped Thoros wouldn’t feel abandoned at their table—probably not, he was fairly sure Cersei had relegated all of Robert’s unattached friends to a table in the back. Thoros would be laughing with Melisandre and Oberyn and Elia, her boyfriend Arthur, and Mace… no Mace would be at his mother’s table, Beric corrected himself. Regardless, he looked forward to sitting down with friends and putting this entire sordid ordeal behind him.

He rounded the bend, noted that there had been little effort to clean up the massive collapse of flowers. He could see the window where he and Jaime had crawled out, the broken bushes where Jaime had fallen, which meant he would have put Beric’s pants down right... there.

Beric looked blankly at the bare ground before him. He nudged some plywood away, lifted some flowers up. He proceeded to work with greater urgency, in a wider and wider circle around where he had been sure Jaime had put them.

Thirty minutes later, he sat down with a sigh, wincing as the trousers rode up even higher. He had to face the facts. He looked ridiculous and the bottom half of his rental tux was nowhere to be found.

He nudged a bit of broken wood with his foot forlornly. Maybe he should just go find his dinner table. Even if people stared, Thoros would have some silly story for him that would take his mind off things.

Beric brushed himself off and headed toward the courtyard. As it happened, he had a perfect view for what happened next. As did several hundred dinner guests.

Ned Stark slammed both hands against the table where he was sitting and stood up, his chair tipping backwards with a crash. He looked furious, and yes, maybe a little tipsy.

“Well MAYBE,” he shouted at Hoster Tully, seated a mere two seats away, “she isn’t here because you humiliated her in front of all these people!”

Hoster Tully, refusing to be talked down to, stood up as well.

“How dare you take that tone of voice with me?!”

“See?! You don’t even deny it! That’s the worst part, that you know what you’re doing and you just DON’T CARE!”

“Lower your voice this instant or I’ll...”

“YOU’LL WHAT?!”

And then Hoster grabbed Ned’s shoulder, and Ned hauled back and punched him square in the nose.

Even from a distance, Beric could see the spurt of blood, and he could almost feel the silence radiating outward across the courtyard.

Beric closed his eyes. With everyone distracted, now would be the perfect time to walk to his table and plop down. Thoros would hand him his flask and Beric could have a swig of rum and he could just relax and enjoy the party.

Or he could go back into that gods-damned maze of a house and find Catelyn and send her out to rescue her husband and hope she didn’t notice he was wearing Tywin Lannister’s clothing.

It was a very easy choice, had Beric not already been heading back to the mansion.

He found Catelyn more or less where he left her, with Brienne. Both girls were holding empty wine glasses, and Beric thought rather wistfully to the flask waiting for him in Thoros’ pocket.

“Catelyn, Brienne, I’m so sorry to interrupt. There’s been an um incident, Ned rather needs your help,” he said to Catelyn.

He knew she’d registered the ill-fitting trousers because her gaze had drifted briefly to them, but she was too polite to say anything.

“Of course Beric,” Catelyn rose. She turned to smile at Brienne. “I suppose I’d better rescue Ned.”

“Of course,” Brienne gave a bright slightly unfocused smile. “Beric, I thought that commercial was terrific. It was really nice of you to help out Robert like that.”

Beric began to redden at the reminder of the commercial that as far as he was concerned had started this entire mess. But Brienne’s gaze was open and guileless and he knew that she just meant the comment sincerely in the same way he knew she hadn’t noticed his outfit at all.

“Thanks Brienne,” he gave her a small smile back. She was already snuggling deeper into her arm chair, the strap on her pink-ish dress falling down one white shoulder. He thought in that moment she looked rather like a modern day Cinderella after midnight, tired of glass slippers and needing a nap.

“So what’s Ned need a rescue for?” Catelyn asked drily as they retreated back toward the courtyard.

“Oh! Right,” Beric took a deep breath. “He punched your father in the face.”

“HE WHAT?!”

Catelyn Stark née Tully was truly frightening when she got angry. An almost dead expression in her eyes. Beric, feeling slightly guilty about being responsible for such a transformation, decided maybe it was time to exit stage left. He hung back as she marched ahead and turned down the first hallway he saw.

And that was how he noticed Cersei hurrying from a cellar corridor, a bundle of clothing in her arms.

Beric did a double take. Surely she hadn’t purloined his trousers?! But no, it was all women’s clothing. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to follow her.

Cersei casually shoved the garments into an antique highboy drawer and then flagged a waiter.

“Sir, where is the sommelier? I’ve been looking for her all night. I must say, I’m finding this dereliction of duty to be rather... unprofessional.”

“So sorry Miss Lannister, I’ll track her down right away,” the waiter bobbed his head nervously.

Cersei gave him a charming smile.

“You might start with the wine cellars.”

“As soon as I deliver these desserts,” the waiter promised.

Cersei floated back to the courtyard, and after a brief pause to wipe the sweat off his brow, the waiter did the same.

Beric hesitated. This really REALLY wasn’t his business. But...

He quickly went to the highboy and retrieved the clothes, and set off for the wine cellars.

“Hello?” Beric called cautiously as he opened the first door. This far down, the air was cold and clammy. It reminded him of a different cellar, Gregor Clegane’s hands around his neck, drowning... Beric forced himself to take a deep breath. In all likelihood there was a scared girl who had fallen afoul of Cersei Lannister out there. This was not the time to be having a panic attack.

“Hello, um miss? I found your clothes, are you okay?”

Beric listened for a moment and upon hearing nothing was turning to exit when there was rustle.

“Wait! I’m here, um behind this rack. Please don’t look, I’m um... not wearing much.”

Beric could relate.

“I’ll toss your clothes in that direction, and I’ll wait for you in the hall. But you need to hurry, I think a search party will be looking for you.”

A minute later, a rather bedraggled looking girl a year or two younger than Beric emerged, trying to smooth her skirt suit. A lacy black bra was still visible under her white shirt, and Beric coughed and nodded in the general direction. The girl looked a tad confused.

“Oh!” She tucked the shirt in, which had the effect of pulling it even further down and revealing more cleavage. Beric winced.

“Here why don’t you wear this,” he shrugged out of his jacket. 

“I know these cellars are cold but I’m rather used to—“

“I insist,” Beric said firmly and draped it over her shoulders, rendering the outfit somewhat more work appropriate. “Now we really must be going.”

He led her out, barely skirting several waiters who had clearly been dispatched to fetch her.

“I don’t know what happened, I had the most lovely romp with Tyrion and then he texted me for a repeat during dinner and that he would wear his birthday suit if I would. And I went and I waited and...”

Beric was glad it was dark because he knew he was blushing terribly. They had made it out of the mansion, and were now hurrying across the lawn. He had the vague idea that if he could get her to the catering prep tent, she could act surprised that anyone would think her missing. It was pitch black, and their progress was only occasionally punctuated by the light of the fireworks from above.

“I can’t think what was taking him so long, and what on earth happened to my clothes,” the girl was saying. Beric flashed back on Cersei borrowing Tyrion’s phone and rather doubted that “Tyrion” had been planning to come at all.

“I suppose I’m just—oof!” The girl lost her footing and landed on her knees. 

“I think I broke my heel!” She cried, clutching the shoe to her person as if it were a small pet.

“Shhh,” Beric tried to shush her. They were so close, but any noise could call the attention of the staff. “Can you walk?”

“No I don’t think so,” the sommelier tried some weight on her foot and winced.

“Okay, I’ll carry you,” Beric decided, looking doubtfully at the tent. It wasn’t terribly far. He could manage.

He staggered the remainder of the way, her arms around his neck, head buried in his shoulder, before at length he could put her down on a folding chair.

“New plan,” he panted as he set her down. “You twisted your ankle in the cellar and have been icing it here for the last hour.”

He cast around for some ice and knotted it into a dishrag as a makeshift ice pack.

“They’ll be so mad at me for playing hooky and not getting anyone to cover!” The girl bit her lip. Then she looked at him more closely.

“Say you look familiar.”

“I’ve got one of those faces,” Beric offered tepidly, aware that with the whole missing eye thing he most certainly did not. “And Miss, I really don’t want to presume, but you DID play hooky without getting anyone to cover. TWICE. And not for a legitimate reason like spraining your ankle but to hook up with the son of your employer!”

His companion had the grace to look a little sheepish.

“You’re right. I suppose it wasn’t very...”

“Professional,” Beric prompted, recalling Cersei’s word.

“I’ll take my lumps. And... and I’ll text Tyrion that it was fun but I have a job to do,” she added.

Beric gave a smile of relief and bent his head to the work of getting the ice pack on her ankle. He didn’t know what the situation there was, but he thought the more distance that this girl put between herself and Cersei Lannister, the better.

“You’re even better in real life you know,” the girl said suddenly. 

“Real life?”

“You’re from that commercial right? With the little boy? But you’re even better in person,” she pressed. “Wait till I tell all my friends that I got rescued by the one eyed hottie from the commercial!”

“I um have to go,” Beric blurted to keep from screaming. Thankfully, he spotted a familiar red topknot bobbing in the crowd.

“Just because you’re being all social butterfly doesn’t mean you can abandon me entirely,” Thoros learned his head back to look at him as Beric wrapped him in a hug from behind.

“After tonight? You’ll be lucky if I ever leave your side again,” Beric said into his hair.

“It can’t be worse than being forced to listen to the sexual exploits of your little sister.”

“Want to bet?” Beric asked dryly.

“So basically,” Thoros smirked when Beric caught him up. “Basically you saved the day. I told you you’re a hero.”

“I didn’t save anything,” Beric protested. Now missing his jacket in addition to wearing somebody else’s trousers, he felt exceptionally unheroic. “I just did what anybody would have done.”

“You convinced Jaime to talk to Cersei about the wedding. I ran into him later, you know. You tricked Tywin into forgiving Steffon. Jaime says he saw them in the library drinking scotch.”

“I just said that to Jaime, he didn’t listen,” Beric disagreed. “And nobody tricks Tywin Lannister. He already wanted to do it, he was just looking for a nudge.”

“Fine you NUDGED Tywin Lannister,” Thoros dipped his voice to make it sound dirty, and Beric glared at him. Thoros only grinned back.

“Then you sent the cavalry to save Ned and finished it up by foiling a Cersei Lannister plot. Has Cersei ever been foiled? I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Well I think she just wanted to break up Tyrion and...”

“Tysha,” Thoros supplied.

“How do you know her name?”

Thoros handed Beric back his cell phone. It was opened to one of the fan Ravengram accounts. There was a picture, of Beric looking down in concentration as he held an ice pack to a purpling ankle. 

The post was by one Tysha Crofter. _My hero_ , said the caption.

“I’m not a hero,” Beric began to repeat himself stubbornly, but Thoros kissed him to cut off his argument. He tasted a little of marijuana and a lot of rum and no matter what Thoros thought, he looked good in a tux. 

“If the Internet says it, it must be true,” Thoros grinned when he broke the kiss. And Beric found that he had quite forgotten what he had been planning to say.


	23. Robert (Been Away For So Long 6 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, late posting today! So rude when work expects you to work. Hopefully Robert's return is worth the wait!

In Robert’s experience, most things just sort of worked out if you left them alone for long enough.

Maybe Ned would come along (“Hey buddy, let me help you with that”) or Cersei (“Really, Robert, it’s not like it’s hard”) or Jon Arryn (“I don’t care if your father said you could, you have a concussion and you’re not playing tomorrow”).

So it was unfortunate that this engagement party was proving to be the exception to the rule.

That in and of itself was odd. Robert loved parties! Especially parties that Tywin Lannister had to pay for! Plus there was the added bonus of standing across from the man in the relative safety of a public setting and just slowly, subtly twisting the knife.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with Cersei,” he confided loudly to Hoster Tully. “But it’s the nights I’m really excited for.”

Okay, he didn’t really do subtle. Still, the death glare from Tywin warmed the cockles of his heart.

“Your bride’s coming toward us,” Rickard Stark noted. 

“Wait till you see her walking away,” Robert winked, and behind Rickard’s left shoulder, Tywin Lannister started turning purple. Robert wondered if he could get him to have a heart attack in the greeting line. 

Then the helicopter landed and Robert had the first inklings that this party might be a bit different.

The thing about his mom was that she cared first and foremost about appearances. And the thing about his dad was that he cared first and foremost about having a good time. They were just the kind of people who probably shouldn’t have been parents, but his mom wanted to have the picture perfect family and had instead ended up with three boys that she’d had very little interest in.

Robert knew it drove Stannis crazy. The injustice of it, the unfairness. He knew it drove Renly crazy, the vacuum where love and attention should have been. It wasn’t Robert’s fault that it bothered him less. Literally everything bothered him less. Cersei said it was because he was emotionally stunted, whatever that meant. Probably something good, because she’d said it in an admiring tone of voice.

He’d mostly been worried that Stannis would get mad at him. Robert had always been his parents’ favorite. Maybe as a result of the whole not giving a shit that they were terrible parents thing. But that was super not his fault, and he didn’t need Stannis going into a sulk and ruining the whole night. Only he managed to navigate pacifying his parents without pissing off his brother, and as Stannis strode off, bent on righteous retribution, Robert slowly let his shoulders drop and released the breath he’d been holding.

It kind of seemed to him that Cersei would be pleased he had handled this so deftly. Would engagement sex be back on the table? He certainly thought it should be. He excused himself from a conversation with his father and Samwyle Tarly to go ask.

He found her talking to that weedy guy that hung around the Tully sisters all the time. 

“Have I mentioned that you look breathtaking,” Robert came up behind Cersei to whisper in her ear. Over her shoulder, he raised an eyebrow at the guy... Baelor? That sounded right. Baelor got the hint and promptly scarpered. 

“Robert, not now, I’m busy,” Cersei turned over her shoulder to look at him. From somewhere, the flash bulb of a camera went off.

Knowing that they were under public scrutiny and therefore there was little Cersei could to do to stop him, Robert took her hand and spun her into him, so she was pressed up against his chest. Another flash went off somewhere.

“Dad’s taken care of. Tywin as good as. Stannis is handling Jaim... the Jamison. We’re out of Jamison,” Robert recovered, barely missing a beat. 

“That useless tramp! She said the bar was stocked!” Cersei clenched a fist. 

“Well we’re taking care of it,” Robert took the fist and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s going to be fine. Let’s just relax and find somewhere nice and quiet to...”

“Relax?! RELAX?!” Cersei growled. When another camera went off, she dropped her voice into an angry whisper. “Robert, Petyr Baelish just told me...”

Baelish! That was it! He’d been pretty close with Baelor. 

“ruining everything!” Cersei was finishing up as Robert tuned back in. She stared at him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Shit.

“Well just tell me what I can do?” Robert tried. She narrowed her eyes, and he hoped he hadn’t miscalculated. That response usually worked.

“Find someone who can fly a helicopter,” she hissed. Then she stood on tiptoe to place a chaste kiss on his cheek and waltzed off as everybody applauded.

Robert was left standing there a little stymied. Engagement sex was on hold until he could find someone to fly a helicopter?!

He wondered if this was something Ned could help with.

Where was Ned?

He knew Hoster Tully had been giving Ned a hard time since he’d married Cat... he’d offered to talk to the man on Ned’s behalf, but Ned had gotten a little squirrely about it. Like he thought Robert would mess things up more, but didn’t want to say so. Which was ridiculous. If the last hour had proved anything, it was that Robert was great at this kind of stuff. 

Case in point—Ned has been pigeonholed by Walder Frey, the man’s bony arm on his shoulder preventing escape.

Robert strode up and put his own arm around Ned.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding! Pardon me, Walder, I’ve got to talk to my best man here about his duties! He’s arranging my stag party you know,” Robert winked. Walder gave an appreciative guffaw.

“It’s only going to be the BEST STAG EVER!” Robert beamed, giving Ned a little shake. Ned mustered a weak smile.

“Nothing wrong with boys being boys, that’s what I always say,” Walder said heartily. “Now Ned, remember what I said about my daughter Tyta!”

Robert raised one hand in a backward wave as he walked Ned away.

“Never under any circumstances get into a room with Tyta Frey,” he snorted. “She’s got more of a mustache than half her brothers.”

“Robert,” Ned mumbled, in a tepid attempt to sound reproving.

“Oh you prefer mustaches? Poor Cat, does she know? Does Oberyn?”

Ned gave him a significantly less tepid shove and Robert laughed, pleased to have jolted him out of whatever mood he was in.

“Walder heard my marriage is on the rocks. He wanted to set me up,” Ned confided.

“With his own daughter? That man is shameless!” Robert shook his head in commiseration.

“It’s Hoster Tully! He’s going around telling everybody that Cat wants a divorce, and Cat’s so stressed as it is, I don’t want to put more on her. But I’m really losing my head over this!”

“Okay, calm down,” Robert sighed. “Is there any chance you can fly a helicopter?”

Ned raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure I’ve reached fleeing the party in your parents’ chopper level yet, Robert, but I appreciate the problem solving,” he said drily.

“Problem solving for myself. I need to get it off the lawn. Can you?”

“Of course not! Where on earth would I have learned?!”

“I was just asking! Okay, you sit right here on this bar stool,” Robert deposited his charge, “and don’t move a muscle. Drinks are on me.”

“Drinks are on Tywin Lannister.”

“All the more reason to drink up,” Robert smirked. Ned just buried his head in his arms.

Okay, he needed to find someone to fly a helicopter and something to help Ned.

It seemed to him, seeing as Cersei and Ned had only saddled him with MORE problems, that the person to talk to was Jon Arryn.

Jon was tall, with graying blond hair, blue eyes and a rather beaky nose. He was their fathers’ age, but had no children of his own. He’d had a wife once but she had died, and it had been hard for him to move on. He’d been Robert and Ned’s pee wee football coach and later their teacher and had kind of adopted them. 

So of course Jon Arryn put down his glass and excused himself from talking to Olenna Tyrell the moment he saw Robert.

“My boy!” He ruffled Robert’s hair. “Getting married?! What’s happening, I’m getting old!”

“You were always old,” Robert swatted him off.

“Careful Baratheon, I’m not too old to make you run sprints!”

Robert rolled his eyes and downed his beer in one go, before letting out an enormous burp.

“My life is running sprints. You’d better come up with a new punishment.”

“I’ll make you finally turn in that essay on Wuthering Heights you owe me from senior year,” Jon Arryn teased.

Robert gave a mock shudder that was perhaps just a teensy bit real.

“How about instead you make your buddy Hoster back off of Ned? He’s driving him crazy!”

Jon Arryn winced.

“I did my duty on that already. I escorted Cat all over that sandbar they called an island. And her sister too. Speaking of which...” Jon paused, uncertainly. Robert tilted his head. He’d never know his father figure/coach/teacher/mentor to be shy.

“Well, what do you think about Lysa Tully?” Jon asked finally, his ears turning just the faintest shade of pink.

Mother have mercy. Jon Arryn, his Jon Arryn, was a dog!

“I think she’s half your age!” Robert elbowed him, unable to stop the delighted smile that was spreading across his face. Jon who force fed him dusty books about men with estates and women with fans, Jon who pined after his dearly departed childhood love, his Jon Arryn was a total scoundrel!

“She is twenty-one!” Jon stammered, seeming much younger than the man who had once torn him a new one for hiding under the bleachers during cheerleader tryouts.

“And you’re... sixty?” 

“I am forty-five! Gods Robert, I’m not ancient!”

He kind of was. At least in Robert’s head.

“I am proud of you,” Robert slung his arm around the man’s shoulders. “Now what do you need advice on? Is it unclasping bras? It’s just practice Jon. I know they probably didn’t have bras back when you were a kid and dragons roamed the earth but...”

“Robert, if you don’t shut up this instant, I’ll tell Hoster Tully who mooned him from the eighteenth hole when he was teeing off for the club championship,” Jon growled.

Robert chortled at the memory. Good times.

“Fine, little Lysa Tully. Little sweet de-lect-able Lysa Tully...”

“Robert!”

“You’re no fun. What do you want to know?”

“Is she single? Does she date? What kind of man is she looking for? Is age an issue? What kind of books does she read?” Jon Arryn asked expectantly.

Robert blinked. He knew the answers to exactly zero of those questions. Kidding aside, Lysa was just Cat’s sister. A little annoying and shrill, kind of a tag along. Cat adored her though, so she couldn’t be all bad. 

“You don’t know do you?” Jon sighed.

“Nope,” Robert admitted. “But I can find out for you.”

“Okay,” Jon looked hesitant. “Just... maybe don’t mention the book thing. I don’t want her to think of me as her teacher.”

“Why not?” Robert grinned. “You bring the ruler, she brings a short skirt and some knee socks...”

“ROBERT!”

The more he thought about it, the more he felt like getting laid would do Jon Arryn some good.

“Look, if you must mention something, you can tell her that I was in the Air Force. Or that I...”

“Wait, you were in the Air Force?!”

“Yes, for ten years. I’ve told you this Robert, you know—“

“Can you fly a helicopter?!”

It was a miracle. Jon Arryn, HIS Jon Arryn, could fly a helicopter. And he’d promised to talk to Ned. All Robert had to do was talk to Lysa.

He found her naturally with Cat.

“Ladies,” he waggled his eyebrows at them.

“Please,” Catelyn rolled her eyes but looked amused. Lysa giggled.

“I’ve missed you while you’ve been away! Ned’s no fun without you Cat, you have to move to Oldtown immediately,” Robert sighed. 

Catelyn rolled her eyes but looked amused. Lysa giggled.

“And Lysa!” He turned his best charming smile on her. The giggling increased. “What’s new with you?”

“Excuse me Robert, I need a refill. Ned and I are so so happy for you,” Catelyn squeezed his hand and bowed out of the conversation gracefully.

“She shouldn’t even be drinking, not while she’s breast-feeding,” Lysa’s face darkened for a second.

“Hnn,” Robert said, briefly distracted by the thought of breast feeding. And breasts. He wondered what Cersei would look like breast feeding...

“...and then he just left me here!” Lysa finished what had been apparently an in depth recounting of her day. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of reaction. Shit. Why did this keep happening to him?!

“So are you single?” Robert asked after a beat. Because only Cersei got the what-can-I-do-for-you-your-majesty treatment. “Asking for a friend,” he added hastily when that seemed to potentially trigger another giggle fit.

“Of course not, I just told you I’m with Petyr,” Lysa smiled at him. “But he really is too rude! He just left me by himself! He’s my plus one you know, he didn’t even get his own invite...”

“Sounds like you need someone more mature,” Robert said smoothly. Gods he was a great wingman.

“That’s what I was just telling Cat! I have options you know, if Petyr thinks he can just disappear on me, I happen to know a very dashing older man who...”

“You know what you should really do,” Robert said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, cutting off her monologue because he could tell it was going to be boring. “Disappear on Petyr.”

“Hmm?” Lysa looked intrigued.

“You know, if you asked, my good buddy Jon Arryn over there would give you a ride in that helicopter. You could see the sunset over King’s Landing from a mile up!” 

“Jon Arryn? Wait that was—“

“And Petyr will have no idea where you are! And wait till people tell him you left in a helicopter with some other guy!”

“You know what?” Lysa downed her glass of Sauvignon. “That is an excellent idea.”

She turned to go. Was he forgetting anything? Oh right!

“HE WAS IN THE AIR FORCE!” He shouted after her.

Robert watched her walk over to Jon Arryn proudly. There. He’d done that. Zero to sixty after a thirty second pep talk. He wondered if they gave awards for the very best wingmen.

Okay, so now he just needed to go sit with Ned and make sure he didn’t do anything silly until Jon got back. 

Robert fairly swaggered back to the bar, ready to catch up Ned on the best gossip of all time (Jon Arryn and LYSA?!?!) and his amazing intervention to save the day. But the bar had nary a Stark in sight.

Huh. Odd. Oh well, he was sure Ned had found someone to offer advice and lend support. Who didn’t like Ned Stark?! Ned was probably doing just fine.

Now that the helicopter had lifted off, Robert decided to check back in with Cersei about that engagement party sex.

He found her with Tyrion and Renly.

“Halfway through dinner, I want you to tell father that Steffon was hoping to have a drink with him in the library in private,” she was instructing Tyrion. She turned to Renly, “And once you see father leave, I want YOU to tell your father that Tywin Lannister was hoping to speak with him in the library.”

“Hey Robert,” Renly lifted a hand in greeting. Robert gave him the traditional Baratheon headlock hello.

“Guess what?” Tyrion asked, as Renly squirmed, trying to break free of Robert’s grip.

“What?” Robert said, finally releasing his youngest brother, who promptly pulled out a comb and set to work fixing the damage.

“I lost my virginity!”

“NICE!”

Robert thumped Tyrion on the back and only Cersei’s quick reflexes kept him from a face plant.

“And I’m in love!”

Robert raised an eyebrow at Cersei, who looked like she had bitten into a lemon.

“Speaking of being in love and expressing that love...”

Renly made a gagging noise and Robert punched him.

“OW!”

“Robert, we’ve set everything up. Father is going to go to the library thinking Steffon wants to have a drink with him. Steffon will go to the library thinking father has something to say. He’ll get there, father will have poured the Scotch for him, Steffon will take that as an apology, and be conciliatory and father will take THAT as an apology. All I need you to do is wait twenty minutes after your father leaves the table and check in on them,” Cersei rattled off. Was it just Robert or did she seem a little stressed?

“Okay, will do,” he said, wondering if engagement party sex had to wait until after that. He tentatively put his arm around Cersei’s waist and she shrugged him off. Yeah, probably had to wait.

He and Ren walked back to the courtyard where the tables were set up and mingled with the guests until dinner was announced. As he sat down with his parents and his brothers, he cast a forlorn look at the table where most of his friends were seated. Then he looked over to the Tully table to commiserate with Ned. 

Hoster Tully and Ned were having a heated conversation, as Edmure, Edmure’s date, Lysa and Baelor looked on with interest. Oh dear. Where was Cat when you needed her?! Robert walked over and plopped himself down on the empty chair between them.

“How’s it going?” He asked cheerfully. “Everyone enjoying the filet mignon?”

His presence managed to keep things on a low simmer, which was great until he saw Renly frantically waving at him. He looked over to his father’s seat which was... empty.

Shit. Shitshitshit. How long had he been gone? Had it been twenty minutes? It seemed like more judging from Renly’s level of frantic and Stannis’ level of glower. 

“Um I need to go,” Robert stood up abruptly, interrupting one of Edmure’s fly fishing stories.

“But...” Ned looked pale.

“I’m sure Cat will be here any minute,” Robert offered, feeling bad for leaving Ned in the lurch. But... engagement party sex! Oh, and not letting his father get murdered by Tywin Lannister. That too.

“Where is my daughter anyway?” Hoster huffed.

Robert missed the end of that conversation because he was power walking to the library. And then jogging. And then running.

He was just taking the corner at a slide, fully prepared to tackle Tywin to the ground if things had gotten violent, when Jaime Lannister suddenly grabbed him.

“Whoah!” Jaime hissed. “They are by some miracle getting along.”

How had he gotten out of whatever trap Stannis had set? Ugh Stannis was seriously off his game lately. He realized Jaime had stopped talking and was staring at him. Why did this keep happening?!

Fortunately, Jaime at least did not wait for a response.

“Nobody is in trouble. Don’t go into the library or you’ll ruin it.”

Oh. Great. He was much better at not doing things than doing things. UNLESS... this was a trap! Because Jaime hated him! 

“Why should I listen to you?! You’ve done nothing but try to sabotage this wedding from the beginning!”

“Yes but... I was wrong,” Jaime mumbled.

Robert waited for the sarcastic shoe to drop. In his experience, most of what Jaime Lannister said was sarcasm. But nothing happened. They just stood there staring at each other really awkwardly. Gods... was this real?

“Didn’t catch that,” Robert said, because if it was real, he definitely wanted to savor this moment. 

“I have spoken to my sister. I think, for quite unfathomable reasons, she might actually like you. So… you know. I’m done trying to mess things up for you. And for what it’s worth, if we’re going to be family, we’re going to be family,” Jaime managed to get out, looking more uncomfortable by the second.

Awww that was nice! And look at him standing there all awkward! Robert pulled him into a big Baratheon bear hug. He wasn’t so bad! And he should definitely come to the stag party. A good way to bury the hatchet and put all of this ugliness behind them. A gasping sound alerted him to the fact that he might be crushing his newest family member.

Robert gently released him back to the wild. But not without extracting a promise that Jaime was in for Dorne. Now back to Cersei to see about that engagement party sex...

“Robert!!!” Ned came skidding around the corner. “Help me!!!!”

“Yikes, not in there,” Robert caught him before he could go crashing into the library. “In here,” Robert pushed a door open at random. It turned out to be a small bathroom. 

Ned half collapsed on the toilet looking ashen.

“Would you have said that Hoster Tully was a bully who would respond to confrontation by crumbling like cheese?” He asked after a beat.

Robert considered. Hoster still harbored a grudge against that mysterious individual who had mooned him in the final round of the club championship ten years ago. He seemed more like the kind of person who nursed vindictive fury for a very long time, allowing it to distill into unstoppable rage.

“Not really,” Robert said. Ned’s shoulders slumped still further, if possible.

“What happened?” Robert asked.

“I might have accused Hoster Tully of destroying my marriage. And then he accused me of destroying his daughter’s life. And then I might have... popped him?”

“Popped him?”

“In the nose.”

“Ah.” Robert sat down against the door. Because really, what do you say to someone who has just punched their father in law in the nose?

“Any blood?”

“Heaps.”

Another pause.

“Does Cat—?”

“No. Not yet anyway.”

And then they heard the scream. It sounded as if it came from beyond the grave. Ned grabbed Robert’s hand.

“Now she knows.”

“Do you think maybe you should leave?” Robert asked tentatively.

Ned gulped.

“That might be for the best.”

“Give tempers time to cool down.”

“Not cause more of a scene than I already have.”

Robert sighed and fished out his car keys, tossing them to Ned.

“If I see Cat, what should I tell her?”

“That I’ve gone back to my parents’ house,” Ned said slowly. Then he looked up.

“And that I am so SO very sorry,” he said finally.

“It’s going to be okay,” Robert tried to comfort him.

“Is it?” Ned said hollowly.

Robert shrugged. Ned gave a dry dark laugh.

“Well up you go,” Robert said, struggling to his own feet and pushing open the window. “At least we’re on the ground floor. Just think, you might have to jump for it!”

Ned only gave him a forlorn wave as he clambered out the window and vanished into the night.

“I know he’s sorry Robert,” Cat said immediately when he found her. 

“I just... ARG!” She thudded her head against Robert’s shoulder dolefully. 

“Your dad is an ass,” Robert huffed.

“I know! But Ned has made a royal mess of things. HE PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE!”

“He had it coming.”

“Violence is not the answer, Robert,” Catelyn scolded. But false. Violence was often the answer. Just maybe not here. “Look... can he stay with you in Oldtown a while longer? I just need some time to process this. And have a long talk with my father. That it would be better if Ned weren’t there for because they really do bring out the worst in each other. The stag and hen parties are next weekend anyway.”

“Of course.”

“Okay... tell him I love him. And also that I want to kill him. But mostly that I love him.”

Robert saluted and Cat gave a weak smile of acknowledgment.

They would be fine. They always were. He hoped he and Cersei were like that someday. Oof, Cersei. She was not going to happy about this. Engagement sex was probably off indefinitely.

With a sigh, Robert began trudging back to the courtyard.

And then it happened.

A door swung open, and Cersei pulled him through.

Robert staggered into what appeared to be some kind of mechanical room.

“Hi Qu—mmmph,” he said less than articulately as he was cut off by her pulling him into a deep kiss.

Did she not know yet? What were the moral and ethical ramifications if he just say, didn’t tell her?

Robert automatically was unhooking the clasps at the back of her dress, letting his fingers trace down her spine as Cersei started fumbling with his belt.

What were the physical ramifications if say, she found out he didn’t tell her?

With a sigh he caught her hands as they started to unzip him.

“Ned punched Hoster Tully in the face in front of all of your dinner guests,” Robert told her bluntly. There, like ripping off a bandaid.

“I don’t care,” Cersei laughed, and pulled his pants and briefs down in one go. 

“You don’t?” Robert said uncertainly, ever as she stepped over the puddle of clothing to stand between his legs.

“Not at all,” she breathed as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed her against the wall. 

“We’ll miss the fireworks,” Robert panted at some point, senses fogged by the tang of her sweat and perfume, and her blonde hair wrapped around his hand, the expression of her face as he thrust deeper.

“Fuck the fireworks,” Cersei managed and then she bit his shoulder so she wouldn’t cry out.

“Fuck the fireworks,” Robert said agreeably after, as they lay in a nest of their abandoned clothing. He pulled his jacket over them both.

“Robby,” Cersei purred, and she only ever called him that when she was truly and deliriously happy.

“Hnn?” Robert asked sleepily. He looked down to see her face on his chest tilted up at him—the enormous green eyes looking almost soft in the dim light.

“Robby, we got Vogue.”

Like he always said, things just seemed to work out.


	24. Cersei (Been Away For So Long 7 of 8)

Cersei was not going to scream. First that... horrid woman had landed her horrid helicopter on the grass, ruining Cersei’s entrance (you only get one shot to make a first impression unless you roofie somebody, and how was she going to drug the entire party?!) and then she had the gall, the unbelievable gall to wear red! Red was the Lannister color! CERSEI WAS WEARING RED!

There would be vengeance. Oh there would be vengeance.

“Cersei, darling!” Cassana Baratheon called, sweeping her into the lightest breeze of an embrace as she air kissed her cheeks. “Don’t you look just like Joanna! A little plumper, but really the spitting image!”

Plumper?! PLUMPER?!

“I love your dress,” Cersei gave her a mega-watt smile. “It’s so refreshing to see women of a certain age embracing today’s fashion.”

Cassana laughed, and hooked her arm into Cersei’s.

“Let’s get a glass of wine my dear. Something better than this dreadful vintage they’re passing around.”

Cersei inwardly seethed. Of course the vintage was rather dreadful, she’d told that tart Tysha Crofter she didn’t want anything sweet, but STILL!

“Assuming you’re still drinking,” Cassana Baratheon arched an eyebrow and their audience tittered.

“Still drinking,” Cersei assured her, and mentally apologized to the biscuit. “Although in my experience, it’s rather hard to keep up with the Baratheons on that score.”

“Robert does love his vices,” Cassana replied, giving her arm a little squeeze just to be clear which vices she was referring to.

They had gotten to the bar. As Cassana hailed the bartender, Varys hurried over, beads of sweat dotting his bald head.

“Moonboy has backed out,” he hissed in an undertone.

“What?!” Cersei reeled.

“He said his agent got him a gig last minute at the National Theater doing stand up! He’ll be the first stand up comedian in history to perform at the National Theater!”

“Last minute? They book their performers years in advance! And it’s all wrong... they do ballet and musicals and… what am I missing?!”

“What you’re missing,” Cassana handed Cersei a glass of Merlot. “Is that I’m on the board of the National Theater. Drink up sweetie, you look so pale. I didn’t want to say this in front of everybody, but I’m not sure red is your color. I think you would have been better off in a nice forest green.”

Cersei drained her glass in one go.

“Why I’m rather surprised that Robert can keep up with YOU!” Cassana smiled.

Cersei wiped a droplet of wine from her lip and glared. 

How was she supposed to make front page of the tabloids if she didn’t have a blow out fight? She knew all the classier outlets would carry her party anyway, but for the Daily Raven and Yes! she needed some whiff of scandal that the other papers and magazines would be too refined to mention.

First things first. Steffon and Tywin was a disaster in the making. She went to the treehouse, which was always where Robert and Stannis had retreated when they were grubby little boys who couldn’t handle a girl beating them at laser tag. Saying it was unfair that she had swapped out her and Jaime’s guns for pellet guns. Please. 

Sure enough there they were, along with Renly (unsurprising) and Melisandre (a bit surprising). Maybe Melisandre hadn’t been lying when she said how much she enjoyed helping with the wedding? That one was hard to read. Probably she was just sad that her relationship with Stannis wasn’t as advanced as Cersei’s with Robert’s. Yes that must be it. She was hoping Stannis would propose soon, and had a touch of wistful envy when surrounded by the majesty of Cersei’s wedding. Cersei benevolently decided to give Stannis a kick in the pants by tossing her bouquet to Melisandre. If nothing else, it would spark a conversation.

That problem dispatched, Cersei hurried back to the lawn. Marillion was supposed to serenade Cersei on the steps, just a teaser of his concert before the fireworks (gods she still needed to do something about that helicopter). She artfully arranged herself next to the flowers, waiting for the spotlights that would train on her and the singer at his piano, composing her features into demure delight.

On cue, the spotlights flickered on. Well, not exactly. One spotlight flickered on.

Cassana Baratheon, dramatically illuminated as she sat at the piano.

There was a ripple of applause through the audience and she smiled. 

“As some of you know,” her voice, technologically amplified, echoed mellifluously across the grounds. How the fuck had she gotten mic’ed?! Cersei, alone and abandoned on the steps, clenched her fists.

“As some of you know, I am a classically trained pianist and opera singer. It was actually at my debut as the lead singer in Florian and Jonquil that I met Steffon and he swept me off my feet. The rest, as they say, is history.”

There was again a murmur of appreciation from the assembled guests. Cersei’s expression of demure delight slipped into a scowl. Had she known that? It certainly explained a great deal about Renly. And she supposed that on the few occasions that Robert had broken into drunken karaoke with the car radio, she remembered thinking that he had a remarkably good voice. And now that she was really thinking about it, all of the Baratheons, even Stannis, were quite good dancers. Still, lead singer, big whoop. 

“In honor of my son’s engagement and his beautiful bride,” Was that a hint of sarcasm? SHE WASN’T PLUMP! “I’d like to dedicate this song to them.”

Cassana sat down to the piano and began a beautiful haunting melody.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone...”

Cersei, utterly forgotten, decided to refill her glass of wine. Even if she had no intention of drinking it, it would subtly reinforce the idea that she had been drinking, ergo was not pregnant. 

At the bar, she googled Cassana Baratheon. Just a bunch of the usual philanthropy garbage. Breaking ground on an orphanage? Really? So nineteenth century. She tried to remember Cassana’s maiden name. Estermont, wasn’t it?

Cassana Estermont had been the youngest prima donna in Westerosi history. Her debut, in The Wildling, had broken attendance records for the King’s Landing opera house, rave reviews, world tours, the usual nonsense. Cersei ground her teeth and shoved her phone back in her pocket.

Trying to put as much distance between herself and that... witch as possible, Cersei began to push through the crowd. She was only stopped briefly by Brienne (poor dear looking quite out of her element) and then she was alone, staring that thrice-damned helicopter.

“I thought she sounded rather flat, didn’t you?” Renly sniffed, coming to join her.

“We have to make allowances for singers who are past their prime,” Cersei said haughtily. Renly gave an uncharitable snort.

“I’ve handled Tywin. I suspect Robert’s coming over now to tell you dad has been dealt with.”

“Well it’s a start. Meet me back here in half an hour, I’ll corral Tyrion and we’ll discuss the next phase of the plan.”

“All these potential agents, and of course Mother steals the spotlight! LITERALLY! I saw her having the staff move the equipment!”

Renly stomped off, only to be replaced by Petyr, swallowing nervously.

“Should I even ask what happened to Marillion?” Cersei said dully.

“Gig at King’s Landing Observatory.”

“And Cassana Baratheon is on the board?”

“Chairwoman.”

Cersei nodded absently. Robert had finally arrived and wrapped her into a hug from behind. Petyr took the opportunity to run, the little weasel. Naturally Robert had one thing on the brain. 

“Relax? RELAX?!” Cersei hissed. “Robert, Petyr just told me that your mother poached Marillion to keep him from upstaging HER at MY party! She’s already cancelled Moonboy, and if we don’t get press today, it’s over! This is our last best chance to get Vogue! And Cassana Baratheon is RUINING EVERYTHING!!!”

She paused for a breath. Robert only gave her a pleasantly puzzled smile which meant he’d heard one word in ten. Cersei sighed and pecked him on the cheek. It was a good thing he was pretty.

Having dispatched him to find a way to move that gods damned chopper, Cersei started to leave only to bump into her brother. The brother not in love with a whore.

She assured Jaime she would take care of THAT problem, as she half dragged him into the house. She had very little time here to give Jaime their mother’s ring, but she also could hardly pass up an opportunity like this one. Of course Jaime had to go and get all maudlin on her. It was just the cut of the ring would really look much nicer on Brienne than it would on Cersei. And Cersei had wanted to design her own ring anyway. And yes she knew in every bone of her body that Joanna Lannister would have ADORED Brienne. She didn’t see why Jaime had to make such a big deal of everything and drag Robert into it.

The moment he left, she hurried back toward the wine cellar, positive that would be where the brother who WAS in love with a whore was lurking. Sure enough, she caught him mooning over a text from that sommelier slut. 

“Tyrion, we have to stop father from killing Steffon Baratheon. Can you help?”

The little monster immediately closed his phone and got up to follow her, and Cersei felt a surge of affection for him. A surge of affection that was strongly tied to an all-consuming rage for anyone who might toy with his heart.

“We’re going to meet with Renly and I’ll explain the plain,” she said curtly.

“How’s everything else going?”

“A complete disaster. It’s just too vexing for words! I can’t believe none of the staff here can fly a helicopter! I would have thought that at least Westerling...” Cersei pursed her lips. Westerling had been distraught not to be able to assist, but she really had to put her foot down when he’d proposed dedicating the next two hours to learning how to fly through YouTube videos. Good help was just too hard to find to risk losing the man.

“Just accept that you’re going to have to ask Steffon to repark his vehicle. Maybe you can make an announcement. ‘Will the owner of the corporate helicopter obnoxiously parked on the lawn please move their vehicle?’” Tyrion snickered, mismatched green eyes lighting up in good humor.

“Everything’s a joke with you!” Cersei scolded. Didn’t he understand this was life and death? Vogue hung in the balance! “Look, can I at least borrow your phone?”

“Fine, here,” Tyrion handed it to her. It was a simple matter to open his thread with Tysha, give her strict instructions for a naked rendez-vous, then delete the brief convo and hand the phone back to Tyrion with him none the wiser.

When they emerged back on the lawn, she immediately saw that the helicopter had been moved, thank the gods. Occasionally Robert did surprise her. She gave Tyrion his marching orders, Renly his marching orders, Robert some marching orders for good measure. And then Westerling rang the bells for dinner.

She eyed the crowd moving toward the courtyard broodingly. Everybody seemed to be having a grand time. But Vogue didn’t cover weddings because people were happy and their guests had a grand time. She needed an edge. What was her edge?

Cersei noted with some horror that the Tyrells were moving to the table directly next to their own. She had specifically put Olenna Tyrell as far as humanly possible from their entire family. Brienne had even double checked! And Ned was going toward the Tully family table... she had put him and Cat with the Starks! What was this... this... chaos?!

“I moved a few of the placecards around a bit, I hope you don’t mind,” Cassana Baratheon placed her hand on Cersei’s shoulder. “I know how... irrationally territorial some people can get about these things...”

Cersei eyed the hand on her person and contemplated what it would look like taxidermied and hung over her mantelpiece.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly. “In fact,” she plucked the hand off her shoulder, and held it in both of her own. “I had something very important I wanted to ask you.”

Cassana looked nonplussed, but the crowd she’d gathered around her as witnesses to ask whether Cersei would be a territorial bitch about the placecards hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Anything darling. We’re family now,” she said and touched her hair to make sure it fell just right for the camera snap.

“I was wondering,” Cersei bit her lip. “Oh I couldn’t. It’s too much to ask.”

Cassana and her high society minions all looked intrigued.

“Would you... would you consider coming out of retirement to sing at my wedding?”

Cassana hesitated for a second, suspicion clouding her features. Cersei could almost see the gears turning behind her tastefully Botoxed and dermabrased mask of a face. The lure of more attention, all eyes on her, the chance to play the gracious mother of the groom, the accolades...

“I would be delighted,” Cassana squeezed her hands. And Cersei was willing to bet those were the first sincere words to pass her lips all night.

“Oh Cersei, where is your engagement ring?” Cassana suddenly asked. Cersei blinked at her bare finger.

“Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise already!” Cassana tittered.

“Of course not,” Cersei said smoothly. “Just a sizing issue.”

“It’s so hard for women with fat fingers, nothing fits,” Cassana patted her. 

Cersei would have been infuriated if she weren’t busy wondering when in the seven hells she was going to be able to look for her ring on top of dealing with Tysha and meeting with Varys. It must have slipped off in the grass somewhere. Somebody would find it, surely? She would get Westerling on the job first thing tomorrow otherwise. He would be out there with a fine-toothed comb if necessary.

She sat down at the head table still reeling over the latest wrinkle.

Her father and her numerous aunts and uncles and cousins were all present, as was Tyrion. Jaime and Brienne were conspicuously absent.

“Poor girl has probably given him the heave-ho after his disgraceful performance tonight,” Aunt Genna stabbed her filet viciously. “I would castrate any man that did that to me,” she continued, this directed at poor scrawny Uncle Emmon who fairly shivered in his seat.

“Quite right dear,” he said immediately. Cersei was rather fond of her Aunt Genna.

“Where is Tyrek?” Uncle Tygett frowned and looked around. Tyrion sputtered and choked on his wine. Cersei scanned the cousins indifferently. Was that pimply one not Tyrek?

“I’m rather impressed that we’re halfway through his daughter’s engagement party and old Tywin hasn’t smiled once,” Olenna Tyrell’s light laugh floated over from the next table. Her father’s eyes narrowed, and Cersei kicked Tyrion. Best to move up the timetable.

“Father,” Tyrion began hesitantly. Tywin was still glaring at Olenna Tyrell. “Tywin!”

That got his attention.

“Steffon Baratheon was hoping to have a drink with you in the library between courses,” Tyrion said brightly. “I told him you’d meet him there.”

“Really Tyrion, I wish you’d consult me before volunteering my time,” Tywin said, nostrils flaring. “I am the host of this event, I can’t just disappear.”

“Don’t worry father, I have it under control,” Cersei patted his hand. He withdrew the hand and fixed her with a glare as well.

“Well off you go,” she said.

There was a lengthy cold stare. 

“I will return shortly,” Tywin addressed the table. Amidst the hubbub of typical family feuding, Cersei and Tyrion were probably the only ones who heard him.

Cersei looked over to Renly and gave him a meaningful nod. Then she politely excused herself to take a quick look through the grass for her engagement ring.

There was the merest whisper of a rustle and Varys materialized. 

“You texted?” He said smoothly.

“I want you to leak to the appropriate publications that world renowned opera singer Cassana Estermont is coming out of retirement to give a private performance at my wedding,” Cersei instructed curtly, continuing to walk with head bent, scrutinizing the grass. “And tell Petyr to have his camera ready. She’s put Ned at Hoster’s table and he’ll have a front row seat to the show.”

“Of course,” Varys nodded and faded back into the shadows.

Cersei noticed a significant chunk of the trellises had collapsed on the East Wing, and a small army of staff were working to clear the debris. That would be coming out of the Garth Greenhands invoice, she noted to herself. She checked the time. The ring would have to wait.

Exactly three minutes after she had instructed Tysha to meet Tyrion in the cellar, she strolled by and scooped up the girl’s clothing. Including a lacy red thong that had been left hanging on the door handle. Skank.

She shoved her loot into some old chest nobody would ever think to look in and flagged a waiter to initiate the hunt. Then she made it back outside to see Ned Stark landing a tremendous right hook into Hoster Tully’s snarling face, punctuated by a camera burst. Nobody but Lysa noticed Petyr politely excusing himself to touch up the images before he sent them to the Daily Raven.

She allocated Petyr twenty minutes to edit, the Daily Raven thirty minutes to process and post, the world another ten to take the story and run with it.

She sat back down at her table, which had gone rather quiet.

“I heard Stannis Baratheon say that his company is going to beat projected earnings for the third quarter in row,” Cersei mentioned off-handedly to Tyrion.

“Emmon, call our broker,” Genna said.

“Where the hell is my phone,” Gerion patted his pockets.

“I keep telling Tywin we need to expand into shipping,” Kevan announced to the table.

“Mining has been good enough for our family for seven generations!” Tygett pointed at him with his fork, spattering Kevan’s wife Dorna with salad dressing.

“I’d thank you to watch your tone with me!”

“This is silk!” Dorna wailed.

“Blended silk at best,” Darlessa, Tygett’s wife sniffed.

Willem and Martyn seized the chaos to attempt second helpings of dessert, but promptly got into an argument over who could claim the largest eclair.

Cersei sat back and smiled as the volume in the courtyard returned to a dim roar.

Exactly one hour and five minutes after Petyr snapped his photo and thirty four minutes after the Times touted Cassana Estermont’s return, Cersei’s phone buzzed.

_Dear Miss Lannister,_

_We have moved some features in our August edition and are wondering if you would still be interested in a collaboration with Vogue..._

Cersei stopped reading and excused herself. Ned had run into the mansion, which meant Robert was doubtlessly somewhere nearby. It was a moment’s work to find him. And as she raked her hands through his shaggy black hair, felt her dress slipping like water off her shoulders, saw the way his stormy blue eyes ignited with a molten heat that she would never not love, Cersei reflected that nothing put her in the mood like winning.


	25. Tywin (Been Away For So Long 8 of 8)

A long time ago, there was a crumbling mansion on a hill. Once all the land around for as far as the eye could see had been a part of the grounds, but it had been sold off bit by bit to fund the family in the mansion’s lavish lifestyle. 

Well the grounds were gone. There was nothing left but a mansion that his father couldn’t afford to maintain, so everything was broken and the roof was leaking and when the utilities company shut the heat off because father hadn’t paid the bill, all of the children had to sleep in the same bed to keep from freezing.

It was on one such night that Tywin got up, awoken by Kevan turning in his sleep and elbowing him the gut. He got out of bed and put on his hand me down boots from father, still much too large, and two jackets over his pajamas. He looked back at his siblings, the four of them subconsciously rolling closer together to fill the space in the bed that he’d left. 

He jammed his hands in his pockets and walked out, nearly tripping on a wine bottle that his father had left on the stairs. The man himself had passed out in an armchair by a now dead fire, pants around his ankles, and there was a woman, a prostitute likely, going through their family’s china cabinet.

“There’s nothing left,” Tywin said acidly, and she had the grace to look embarrassed.

“He hasn’t paid me, hun, I’m just trying to make rent,” she said and opened the next drawer. 

“Next time consider asking for the money up front,” Tywin bit. “Now leave before I call the police.”

He couldn’t call the police of course, not without implicating his father, not without some awful blurb in the Tattler like “Last of the Lannisters” illustrating his family’s fall from grace. And then the world would know how far they had truly fallen. And then would come the social workers, and they would split them up, and Tywin would never let that happen.

The prostitute left all the same, with a sad backward look that verged too close to pity.

Tywin ignored it. Once he was sure she was gone, he locked the door. He threw a blanket over his father and then began climbing the steps to the attic. A falling tree had taken a chunk from the roof and the wall here, and only starlight met him as he opened the door, starlight and a blast of icy winter air.

He sat there, looking out over all the places that had once belonged to his house, blowing on his fingers to keep them warm, and as the sun began to rise, he vowed that someday they would belong to his house again. He would rebuild everything, brick by brick, just how it had been. 

In that moment, things had seemed... not easy exactly, but clear. He knew what had to be done and he never shirked from his duty.

He had met Steffon Baratheon at King’s Landing Prep. It had been all male then, and they’d had uniforms. Tywin had always been thankful for that fact, didn’t know how he would have concealed his impoverishment otherwise. He had a reputation as being a bit of a swot, all the better to explain why he didn’t fraternize with the others. Not because he was working two part-time jobs, not because he didn’t have the clothes or the car to fit in, but because he spent all his time studying and thought he was better than them. Well, they were half right. He did think he was better than them.

Steffon was his year and failing math. His father had asked if another student would be able to tutor him for some money and the teacher had recommended Tywin. They met in a classroom after school let out.

Steffon was big for their year and had pitch black hair and dark blue eyes, once currently swollen shut from some fight. He had a loud voice and a louder laugh, and next to him Tywin felt pale and skinny and mouselike. Tywin hated him immediately.

“How’s this work?” Steffon had asked, kicking his feet up on a desk and leaning back in his chair. Tywin itched to knock the chair out from under him.

“How this works is that I don’t have the time nor the inclination to spend my afternoons sitting in a classroom with you. I have the key to Mr. Swyft’s office. I’ll get the answer key before our next test and give it to you. I trust you can handle some memorization?”

“No shit,” Steffon raised an eyebrow, looking at him appraisingly.

“Well can you?” Tywin asked testily.

“Yeah. But I want half.”

“Half?”

“Of what you’re making to tutor me,” Steffon smirked. “To keep my mouth shut to my father.”

Tywin ground his teeth. Of course this money had been a windfall, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t earmarked it for new shoes for Genna (all the boys got each other’s hand me downs) and a warmer jacket for himself. But really, what choice did he have?

“Deal,” he said.

“Now c’mon. If you’re not going to teach me maths, let’s go smoke at the quarry.”

Tywin was taken aback. He was not the kind of boy who hid out in the quarry drinking and smoking and fighting and gods knew what else.

“Whassa matter, doesn’t cost anything to have fun,” Steffon rolled his eyes.

“I have money,” Tywin said stiffly.

“Nah, you don’t or you wouldn’t have said yes to begin with. You patch your uniform instead of buying a new one and I saw you cutting coupons out of a newspaper once.”

“If you think you can spread such slander about me, you are mistaken,” Tywin glared.

“If you think I care about you and your problems, you are mistaken,” Steffon yawned. “Now come on. Don’t pretend like you have anywhere better to be.”

So that’s how it happened. On days when Tywin was supposed to be tutoring Steffon, they would drive out to the quarry and Steffon would buy beers and cigarettes off the older kids and they would lie on their backs on the edge of the world and talk. And Steffon would pretend he believed that Tywin was going to pay him back for that six pack someday and Tywin would pretend he believed Steffon had busted his nose playing street hockey and they spun each other tales of how the world would be.

Daydreams for the most part, looking back, that’s all it was. But it was comforting to have someone to confide in who didn’t rely on him for their next meal, someone with whom he could be his age and not some kind of protector-father figure.

“Some day,” Tywin had said lazily, watching the sun set on King’s Landing far below them, “some day I am going to own this town.”

He exhaled a stream of smoke, held the cigarette lazily between two fingers as Steffon did, like he didn’t give a damn whether it fell. Like there were more where that came from.

“This town?! Pfff,” Steffon threw a rock hard and there was a long beat before it splashed far below. He had a fading bruise across his jaw, mottling his skin in the dying light. “I’m going to travel the world. See everything, do everything, leave this shithole in the rear view mirror.”

“You can’t leave, you have to take over Stormsend,” Tywin pointed out drily.

“Fuuuuuuck that,” Steffon sang and threw another rock.

The year after that, they’d coordinated their schedules to have the same classes. The year after that one, they’d gotten to the cafeteria to see a stranger sitting at THEIR table. He’d been almost girlish looking. Long white hair pulled back into a low ponytail. It was against regulation, Tywin was shocked the teachers hadn’t made him cut it. And then he looked up, directly at them, and his eyes were honest to gods purple.

“That’s Aerys Targaryen,” Tywin had grabbed Steffon’s arm. “They say his entire family is crazy.”

“Yeah?” Steffon eyed him consideringly. Then he’d grinned back at Tywin. “He’s my cousin. Trust me, they don’t know the half of it.”

The year after that, they’d run the school.

And yeah, it had been Steffon who had elbowed Tywin in the side at a fraternity mixer in college, and nodded at a girl across the room with curling blonde hair and the greenest eyes that Tywin had ever seen in his life. 

“She’s cute,” Steffon smirked. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

Steffon who had hunted down Miss Joanna Marbrand’s number when Tywin had been so starstruck that he hadn’t even thought to ask before she left.

Steffon who had been best man at their wedding.

Steffon who had shoved him in the chest so hard that he’d fallen, who’d made no move to help him back up.

“He’s sick, Tywin. Really sick. If you support his re-election campaign, you’re enabling him. He’s going to get worse, not better. He’s a paranoid delusional psycho, and the twisted part is that you’re worse. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.”

And Tywin had seen the people around them staring, could imagine the headlines, the implications for Mayor Aerys Targaryen if it got out, and his mental calculator spit out the only response.

“I take it we shouldn’t expect your vote,” he’d snarked.

And he’d seen the shuttered expression when he’d chosen Aerys over Steffon, knew there wasn’t any coming back from that. All the same, he’d thought some things were sacred. He’d thought Joanna was sacred. Right up until he saw the perfectly tasteful perfectly bland flower arrangement from the Baratheons at her funeral. They weren’t coming.

Sometimes he wondered where things went wrong. Things had started so simple. That night watching the sunrise over the property Tytos Lannister had let slide into ruin. Or that summer evening with Steffon, all of King’s Landing stretched out before him. Or that moment he had knelt on one knee in front of Joanna, and asked her to be his and only his until the end of time.

Was it when he had gone to Aerys’ office to discuss Denys Darklyn’s latest corruption accusations? And Aerys had looked at him oddly and said it was already taken care of. They’d found the body two days later.

Was it when Steffon had demanded he choose between him or Aerys? And Tywin hadn’t come this far, hadn’t worked this hard, to sacrifice his career on the altar of butterflies and friendship. 

Was it sitting in the doctor’s office with Joanna, squeezing her left hand in his own as she’d rested her right hand on her swelling bump? If we start treatments now, the doctors say there’s still a chance, he’d tried. And she looked at him, her normally luminous eyes now wild and fierce. I will not hurt this baby, she’d said.

Was it looking at that fucking flower arrangement in the funeral parlor? Jaime’s hand in his left hand and Cersei’s hand in his right, little Tyrion asleep across some chairs. He’d felt like he was drowning, sinking at last under the weight of all these impossible expectations. He’d looked at those polite impersonal flowers and they’d held a truth he’d been trying to suppress since his wife had died. In the whole world, his children had only one person they could turn to. And he was not up to the task.

“Money won’t make you happy Ty!” Genna had screamed at him when he’d missed her wedding to oversee a hostile takeover.

He’d wanted to retort that having it made him a hell of a lot happier than not having it. That who was she to lecture him? Only Kevan had really been old enough to remember the bad times, only Kevan could understand how far they’d come. Kevan who’d been half a world away opening their Essosi branch. And Gerion and Tygett, forget it. They had been babies.

But the irony was in the end perhaps Genna was right. He’d found himself without friends, without family, without his wife. And he could give his children everything, literally everything, but happiness.

The question of whether or not his children were happy had not bothered him initially. There were so many other things—Jaime’s dyslexia, Tyrion’s myriad health problems, Cersei’s bewilderingly violent tantrums—to just endure. And add to that the struggle of waking up each day on his side of the bed, knowing he would never again roll over and see Joanna smiling back at him. Every morning was another bleak foray into a world that no longer interested him. A world where nothing made sense any longer except his business. He retreated into Lannister Corp, admittedly, but it had become the only thing he understood.

The turning point had come one November when two things had happened in short order. The first had been a long time coming. He and Aerys had finally, irreparably fallen out. The second was that Jaime had suffered a horrendous football injury, ending his career and leaving his right hand shattered.

It occurred to Tywin, as he was researching neurosurgeons on his tablet, with a doctor on his cell, a surgeon on his work phone and the Chief of Staff at Crone’s Mercy videoconference in on his desktop, that his children were terrifyingly vulnerable. That he could not simply sever his relationship with Aerys and retreat. That Aerys had to be permanently destroyed, or his family would never be safe.

The ensuing events were well known to the world of course. And in the next six years, Tywin thought it imminently reasonable that he had been primarily concerned with Jaime. The boy had been taken hostage, witnessed horrifying acts of violence and then forced to kill somebody in self-defense. 

He’d gotten him the best therapy money could buy, backed off on pushing academics, encouraged him to pursue his relationship and held his tongue as his son went to an average university and made average marks and now barely worked at the company with no clear idea of what he wanted to do in life. And all that could be endured, if only Tywin knew he were happy. That by his continued association with Aerys, he hadn’t damaged his son beyond repair.

So when the tracker that he’d had installed on the car he’d gifted to Cersei for her birthday showed an unscheduled trip to the doctor, he’d barely paid it any mind.

It wasn’t until the doctor called, as he had been paid handsomely to do, and gave Tywin the news.

His only daughter, pregnant.

Embarrassingly, the first emotion he felt was panic. Of his children, he had always felt least at ease with Cersei. A girl needed a mother. But it was more than that. She looked so much like Joanna and was so unlike her... well it had always left Tywin at a loss. Joanna had been warm and empathetic, quick to laugh and quick to forgive. Cersei was prickly and complicated and if given advice had always been prone to run out and do the opposite. Fortunately, Tywin wasn’t in the habit of giving advice. He was in the habit of giving orders.

The burden of being a single parent had been one he had struggled with immensely. Frankly, he did not believe he had acquitted himself particularly well. No daughter of his would ever know that loneliness. Over his dead body. Or, far more likely, Robert Baratheon’s.

Had Tywin believed in karmic justice, he would have found some humor in this situation. A neatly executed irony in the idea that Steffon had managed to have the last laugh. But he did not. There was only the dull aching guilt that he had once more failed to be the father his children had needed, and a stoic determination to minimize damage at all costs.

And now he had been dispatched to pour drinks for Steffon Baratheon in the library. Tywin exhaled a shakier breath then he’d realized, sitting down heavily on the bed. He looked at his and Joanna’s wedding photo, pretended she were here. Telling him he was a self-centered idiot, promising him that their children were stronger and more resilient than he gave them credit for. His frazzled nerves even managed to conjure a thump of approval when he brought up burying the hatchet, and Tywin considered whether it might not be time for him to find his own mental health specialist. Joanna as a ghost was one thing, but a poltergeist might be a step too far.

Snorting at the idea, he managed to sustain himself through the walk back to the library, through pouring out two glasses of scotch. And then the door pushed open and Steffon Baratheon walked in.

Steffon still looked youthful (and why wouldn’t he, what does he know about the stresses of a career or raising a family, a bitter thought brushing the back of his mind), still looked like the charming flippant friend who’d had all the confidence Tywin lacked, who’d looked down at the city below them and sang ‘fuuuuuck that’.

Steffon was staring back at him, uncertainly. Tywin wondered what he saw, knew he had aged and hardened where time had left Steffon untouched. For the briefest instant, he wondered if Steffon was going to bring up Aerys, was going to point out that he had been right and Tywin had been wrong, and even had it been the opposite, by what right had Tywin cut him out?

But instead, Steffon only smiled, affecting an air of surprise.

“Ty! It’s been too long!”

Tywin stuck out his hand with the glass of scotch.

“Far too long.”

And then Steffon’s smile broadened into the grin be remembered, and he took a long draught from the glass.

“My boy, your girl... who’d have thunk it?”

Tywin shook his head, a smile at the ridiculousness of life.

“To a Lannister-Baratheon dynasty! Long may they reign!” Steffon toasted exuberantly, the scotch sloshing in his glass, and Tywin laughed at his antics. And so, some thirty years later, they came full circle, two overgrown boys with delusions of grandeur. Only one thing was missing.

“Do you want a cigar?” He asked abruptly. “They’re from Ahvana, I was saving them for a special occasion.”

“Ahvana?! I could always count on you to have the best of everything.”

Tywin opened the humidor and they strolled out to the balcony to observe the festivities below.

Steffon lit his cigar, and took a few luxuriant puffs.

“Gods it’s good to be us,” he smirked, sitting in a chair and leaning back. 

Tywin sat down as well, picking out the people below as the fireworks sporadically illuminated them. There was Tyrion, snickering with Renly Baratheon. There was Jaime, laughing hand in hand with his girlfriend Brienne Tarth. Where was Cersei? 

Another cursory inspection revealed Robert was nowhere in sight either. 

“Where did our children run off to anyway,” Tywin leaned forward.

Steffon snorted. Tywin glanced over his shoulder.

“Please, you know where they ran off to,” Steffon said drily.

Tywin, realizing what he was implying, reddened.

“Certainly not!” 

Did Steffon know Cersei was pregnant? Somehow Tywin doubted it.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Steffon stretched. “I could barely keep my hands off Cassana at my engagement party.”

Tywin remembered that engagement party. He remembered Steffon had disappeared for an hour in a cloakroom with a cocktail waitress. Not to be confused with the wedding, when it had been twenty minutes with a florist in a confessional.

There was another round of applause from the people on the lawn, as Cersei and Robert appeared on the staircase under a shower of golden sparks, arms around each other. Tywin ground his teeth as below them, Robert discreetly pulled Cersei’s dress down in the back.

“What did I tell you?” Steffon laughed, taking another puff of his cigar. “He’s the spitting image of me. Never had a thought I didn’t do first. And Cersei is Joanna come again.”

As the fireworks crescendoed, Tywin remembered how Steffon had kept three girlfriends at three different schools from age sixteen to eighteen.

As Tywin clapped his friend on the back, he remembered how Steffon met Cassana at an opera he’d been invited to by another woman.

As Tywin mechanically shook hands with the gradually dispersing guests, he remembered Steffon in college with a different date to every event, Steffon laughing about making the seven sororities, Steffon hanging a sock from their dorm room every night until Tywin had threatened to hide his condoms.

As Tywin dealt with a flustered Tygett, pinching his son Tyrek’s ear with one hand, and carrying a bundle of a woman’s shawl and men’s trousers and what looked like two different cell phones and a ring, he remembered back to that night when he’d met Joanna.

“She’s cute, why don’t you talk to her?” Steffon had whispered.

“—and I told that nanny he has to be WATCHED, how the hells did he get a pair of trousers? How am I even supposed to identify the owner?! ‘Paging the man with no pants’?! Not to mention—“

“I couldn’t, I don’t know her,” Tywin had stammered.

“—the cost of this ring?! Tell me there’s some kind of lost and found that I can just dump these in, it’s too humiliating for words—“

“If you don’t,” Steffon had leaned in, leering. “I will.”

“Darlessa says he’ll grow out of it, that it’s a phase. Some phase, it’s been two years, I keep telling her—“

Tywin swallowed. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Gods. What had he done?!


	26. Stannis (Vice and Wish 1 of 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys ready for the BEST! STAG! EVER!!!!? One quick note... though I think this entire story largely stands on its own, this arc will make more references than usual to an arc in Light the Way called 'Hangover in Myr'. It was an homage to the movie 'The Hangover', and this arc will be in part, either an homage to Hangover II or a second homage to the first Hangover (because I didn't actually like the second movie that much). But whatever you call it, I was obviously very inspired by that series and won't pretend that I didn't borrow some ideas :)

Stannis woke up slowly, dimly aware that he was cozy and warm and in the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in in his life. 

There was something to be said for the Water Gardens, the ancestral summer palace of the Martells. It was a gorgeous oasis of greenery and fountains and sandstone arches that opened onto vistas of the sea. 

When Ned had first broached the idea of a stag party in Sunspear with the gang, Thoros and (naturally) Oberyn had enthusiastically agreed. And Mace had a habit of agreeing with Oberyn no matter what was said. Same vis a vis Beric and Thoros. As for Jaime... well he still seemed rather confused about how he had come to be roped into this mess. 

So it had fallen to Stannis to point out rather acidly that perhaps Dorne in AUGUST was not ideal.

To which he got:

“Fewer crowds!” (Ned)

“Off season prices!” (Thoros)

“The women wear much less in August, it is true.” (Oberyn)

And that’s when Robert decided they were going to Dorne.

“It’s only for three days,” Melisandre had laughed at his disgruntled expression. Or maybe his oversized suitcase.

“In my experience, that is ample time for Robert to get into trouble,” Stannis huffed, considering whether he should pack a light windbreaker (it could get breezy by the ocean and would be better than nothing if it did rain) or a heavy rain jacket (the only think that would truly stand up to Dorne’s infrequent but torrential downpours). After consideration, he decided to bring both.

“Do you even know what happened when they all went to Myr?”

“No, actually,” Melisandre frowned, a delicate wrinkle appearing on her forehead. “Do you?”

“No. And that is my point,” Stannis weighed a tube of waterproof sunscreen SPF 55 or non waterproof sunscreen SPF 70. After consideration, he decided to bring both. 

“We know they won a bunch of money, and once when Robert was really drunk, he said that the Myrrish mafia weren’t so bad. Also he lost a tooth.”

“I take your point,” Melisandre winced and wrapped her arms around him. “Come back to me in one piece.”

Stannis put his hands over her own to keep her there and sighed. He looked at the rape whistle and the mace that he’d gotten for Melisandre which she never ever used. After consideration, he decided to bring both.

“Are you even going to be able to carry that thing?” Melisandre looked doubtfully at the suitcase, which Stannis was now sitting on and struggling to zip.

“I... won’t need... to,” Stannis panted as he finally got it closed. “It rolls.”

He dragged it out into the kitchen and left it by their door. Mission accomplished, he wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.

“I wish I were staying here with you,” he told Melisandre glumly.

“I won’t even be here,” she gave him a wan smile back. “I’m having a luxury spa experience at the Isle of Faces. Just Cersei and her bridesmaids, eating seaweed for forty-eight hours.”

Stannis winced. He knew how Mel got when she hadn’t eaten a full meal in a while. Between a wedding crazed Cersei and a hangry Melisandre... Stannis was retroactively grateful that he would be all the way in Dorne. 

He was less grateful when he walked out of the airport to be greeted by a blistering wave of dry heat. Stannis squinted at the city of Sunspear before him, the air having the shimmery distorted quality of a desert. He had been the last to arrive, since he refused to take a half-day off work to humor Robert’s childish whims. Oberyn had gotten here days ago, Robert, Ned and Mace had arrived on a commercial flight earlier that morning, Beric and Thoros had driven down and Jaime had taken his family’s corporate helicopter. Stannis would have normally had some snark reserved for that particular expense, especially given that Jaime had not offered to give anybody else a lift, but Stannis had also gone out of his way to minimize the amount of time he had to spend with these people.

A short taxi ride later, Stannis was deposited in front of a walled gate.

“Is this the Water Gardens?” He asked, surprised at the relative shabbiness. His taxi driver managed to get the suitcase out with a groan of effort.

“No, that is the Water Gardens,” the driver pointed up to a large structure well beyond the gate and up an enormous hill. “I can’t take you further, there are no taxis in the historic district. Tears up the cobblestones.”

“Cobblestones?” Stannis asked with some dismay, having already pulled out the handle to roll his bag.

“Aye. You’ll be on foot for the next couple miles.”

“...couple miles?” Stannis winced.

He had finally wrestled his bag up the promontory that he had initially described as a large hill and was now thinking of as a jagged alpine peak. Who knew Dorne had mountains?! He was sweating through his button-down shirt and starting to think he might prefer Cersei and her mud masks when he finally rang the buzzer.

“Stannis,” Oberyn opened the door, looking casually elegant and not sweaty in the slightest. “Welcome to the Water Gardens.”

And as a maid scurried to take his suitcase and a butler pressed some kind of frozen drink into his hand, Stannis felt the tension slowly ebbing from his shoulders.

The others were hanging out by an infinity pool that looked out over the harbor. All sipping frozen cocktails or reading, Robert and Ned throwing a football back and forth in long lazy spirals over the water.

Was it just possible that Stannis was... wrong?

In his memory, this almost never happened. It was a foreign concept.

But a perfectly relaxing evening by the pool was followed by dinner in an open air courtyard with Oberyn’s older brother Doran and his wife Mellario. The fruits were deliciously fresh, the main curry dish a trifle hot for Stannis’ taste but still exquisite, and all the better when washed down with spiced wine.

He politely refrained from further helpings after cleaning his plate, instead sipping his wine and occasionally contributing to the conversation. Mace Tyrell apparently felt no such compunction, having gone back for fourths.

Doran was grilling Robert about the Sunspear Suns’ chances at a Super Bowl appearance, Mellario seemed delighted to find somebody who could speak Valyrian and was jabbering away with Thoros, Beric was trying to console Ned over the Tully Situation (as they were all calling it) and Oberyn had cornered Jaime and was trying to extract a commitment to go on a double date with him and Ellaria.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Doran asked Oberyn, during a momentary lull in the conversation.

“I have arranged for a walking tour of the Winding Walls, with lunch at the observatory on top of Spear Tower. Then we’ll go for a drive to the beach, spend the afternoon there, and have dinner at the Old Palace. I have tickets to a theatrical production of Nymeria’s War tomorrow night,” Oberyn answered.

“What a delightful day,” Mellario chimed in.

Stannis agreed, although he noticed Robert and Mace looking a little put out. Ned and Thoros exchanged a glance. Beric and Jaime seemed relieved.

“Mother will be so pleased. As am I. I think you’ve really matured over the last two years,” Doran beamed benevolently at Oberyn.

Sure, if you consider three children with three different women maturation, Stannis internally snarked.

But Oberyn only smiled pleasantly.

“I’m so glad you think so.”

“I want you boys to take my convertible tomorrow,” Doran said.

“Oh we couldn’t,” Oberyn purred, rather looking like he absolutely could.

“You only have one car between the eight of you—I insist.”

“Well if you insist,” Oberyn said nonchalantly.

“You might ask Arthur to dinner,” Doran mentioned.

Stannis’ ears pricked. Arthur Dayne? He was two years older than Robert, and was something of a legend at King’s Landing Prep because he’d gone on to represent Westeros in the Olympics for fencing. He’d gotten a gold medal. He’d also been Elia Martell’s plus one to the engagement party.

Oberyn dipped his head in acknowledgment, although Stannis got the distinct sense that he was slightly annoyed by the suggestion. Which was odd because the Martells and the Daynes had always been close. Regardless, Stannis looked forward to making Arthur’s acquaintance. 

They had been escorted to their rooms, a guest suite well apart from Doran and Mellario’s living quarters, which had four bedrooms connected to a large common room and two bathrooms. Here at last came a slight fly in the ointment. By virtue of having arrived last, Stannis had no choice but to take the remaining sleeping quarters. Predictably, that was the other half of Jaime Lannister’s king bed.

“Hi Jaime,” said Stannis politely, rather aware that these were the first words he’d said to him since he’d locked his erstwhile ally in a room. He wondered if Jaime was still annoyed about that.

“You are my third least favorite person here,” Jaime informed him.

Stannis would take that as a yes.

“Why are you even here?” Stannis asked, somewhat annoyed. Jaime was the one who had dragged his parents into this! All Stannis had done was lock a door!

Jaime only huffed and rolled over so his back was to Stannis.

The next day, Stannis carefully unpacked his belongings from his suitcase to create a daypack for the activities Oberyn had planned.

“Did you just pull a suitcase out of a larger suitcase?” Jaime stared.

“It is a daypack,” Stannis informed him frostily, having added his hiking boots, swim trunks, flip flops, towel, sun glasses, then a collared shirt and sports jacket for dinner and the theater. Then sunscreen for Robert, phone charger for Ned, snacks for Mace, a minibar sized container of rum for Thoros, breath mints for Oberyn... he hesitated and added the mace and the whistle for Beric... and... nothing for Jaime. He zipped up his daypack self-righteously. That would teach him a lesson in the importance of a daypack.

By the time he got to the breakfast room, people were done with breakfast and ready to go. Stannis certainly didn’t want to keep the tour guide waiting, so he eschewed the omelette bar that Doran’s personal chef had set up for a pop tart tucked in his pocket. The gang trooped out, to see Beric’s rather unremarkable jeep waiting alongside a gorgeous emerald green vintage convertible.

Stannis considered Robert to be more of the car person in the family, but even so he stopped dead. Robert was drooling, and Stannis pulled a napkin out of his day pack.

“Is that...” Robert began.

“A 1962 Rhoynar Dragon?” Oberyn grinned.

“Can I...”

“Drive it? Absolutely not. This thing is more precious to Doran than life itself. But I’ll let you ride shotgun.”

“SWEET! Ned, Stannis get in here!”

As Stannis sat back on the genuine leather bucket seat, a sea breeze ruffling through his hair as Oberyn pulled out of the Water Gardens, a smile may have even crept across his face.

However, Stannis couldn’t help but notice that they were not heading toward the Winding Walls.

“We’ll be late for the tour,” he pointed out.

“There’s no tour,” Ned said.

“I had to say something to get Doran to give us the Dragon,” Oberyn shouted over his shoulder.

Robert grinned.

“Does that mean...”

“Pretty much that entire schedule was made up,” Ned confirmed.

“But we are going to the beach,” Oberyn smirked.

Stannis tried to match the excitement of everybody else in the car. But all the same. He really wanted that historic walking tour.

“Mace and I were at Sunspear for college, if you’ll recall,” Oberyn was saying. “So I’ve arranged for a different tour. Of the local wildlife if you will.”

So snakes and wild horses? Stannis tried not to sulk.

But then they pulled up to a sparkling white beach that appeared to be overrun with college aged kids. And many of the ladies were... Stannis blushed, trying to keep his eyes firmly fixed on his feet. Topless. Many of the ladies were topless.

“Is this heaven?” Robert asked dazedly.

“This my friend is Dorne,” Oberyn grinned, extending his arms to encompass the sand, the sun, the sea, the sights as he walked backward from the car.

“Is this your car?” A particularly buxom young lady sauntered up.

“Absolutely,” Oberyn leaned against it.

Stannis fumed. Oberyn had three children. Ned had one, Robert was expecting. Were they really planning on flirting with co-eds?!

“You look familiar,” another woman was saying to Robert.

“I was the quarterback of the Suns for two years—I just got traded to Oldtown last year,” Robert preened.

Apparently they were. Stannis set to work changing from his walking tour clothes and into his beach clothes (and finding a discrete place to change, despite several women assuring him that it was entirely unnecessary). He had just emerged from behind a sand dune however, when there was the sound of a motor boat approaching.

“Is that our boat?” Robert asked delightedly. It wasn’t overlarge, but it had a small second floor platform that shaded the cockpit, and a water slide from that platform off the back. The boat was called the Feathered Kiss, Stannis noted, and the occupants of the other car were already aboard. 

As it pulled up to the shore, the captain, a dark skinned woman with short hair and a broad smile swung herself out into the surf gracefully to pull it ashore.

“All aboard!” She sang cheerfully, with the lilt of the Summer Islands.

There was a minor scuffle between Robert and Oberyn as they both attempted to be the first to reach her. Oberyn got in front with an elbow to the ribs, only for Robert to pick him up by his collar and fling him backward.

“I’m the bachelor, or the stag if you will. Robert Baratheon,” Robert extended his hand even as he eyed her up and down.

“Sara,” the captain gave him a firm handshake and an eye roll.

“But I’m the one who hired you,” Oberyn took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. “Oberyn—“

“Martell, I know who you are,” Sara laughed. “I met you at the Yronwoods’ last party.”

“Of course, you were there with Edgar. Are you still dating?”

“No we—“

“Thank the gods. A woman such as yourself is wasted on that lump. May I just say, I look forward to boarding your vessel,” Oberyn was still holding her hand.

“No we’re engaged,” Sara smiled sweetly and removed her hand from his grip. Oberyn laughed heartily, not the least bit phased.

“Now which of you lovely ladies wants to come on a boat ride?” He asked, turning to the women around him. As a handful of giggling girls jumped up and down (to the extreme delight of Robert), Jaime rolled his eyes.

“You are my fourth least favorite person here,” he informed Stannis, as Oberyn helped several of them on to the already crowded boat.

Stannis did not deign to respond, instead clambering over to join Ned where he had barricaded himself behind several coolers of drinks. Jaime contented himself with extracting a bottle of champagne from the coolers and retreating from the group to wrestle it open.

As Stannis considered what alcohol might best wash down a pop tart, the boat gave a series of lurches, a loud roar of the engine, and then sped toward open waters as everybody cheered.

Sara, with casual expertise, began taking the boat full throttle along the coastline, her passengers laughing as they bumped over the waves. Well all the passengers except Jaime, who was finding the turbulence to be highly disruptive to his bottle opening experience. At length, Sara came to an inlet where a veritable flotilla of boats had been anchored together.

“We came here all the time in college,” Oberyn grinned. “Nobody to police underage drinking, lots of sun, lots of swimming...”

The raft of boats had created a sheltered area where pool floats and water slides had been set up. There were the screams and laughter of fellow boaters splashing about in the warm water and Stannis had to shade his eyes against the dazzling sun. As if to punctuate the idyllic scene, there was a pop as Jaime finally got the champagne bottle open. And then a squawk of outrage as Robert yoinked it from his hands, gulped and passed it on. It made a quick round of the boat, and had almost made it around again, still half full, to Jaime when it landed in Thoros’ hands. He promptly drained it in one go, and handed the empty bottle back.

“You are my fifth least favorite person here,” Jaime said glumly to Stannis.

“You look familiar,” a girl was saying to Beric. Beric swallowed and looked around panicked for Thoros, who had already disembarked and was paddling toward a floating game of beer pong.

“Here you go,” Stannis handed Beric the whistle. Beric studied it.

“Just whistle, and Jaime will come over and flirt with them until you can sneak away,” Stannis said.

“I’ll do say what now?” Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“You did abandon me dangling from a window,” Beric pointed out.

“Ugh fine,” Jaime groused.

“It’s from that commercial right? 1-877-KAMP4KIDS,” the girl sang the final jingle.

Beric blew his whistle.

“Sixth least favorite,” Jaime muttered to Stannis before turning to the girl with a smile.

“CANNONBALL!” Robert shouted from where he had clambered on to the motorboat’s second floor platform. Stannis automatically stepped back, as Jaime looked toward the source of the noise, only to be promptly doused by the wave.

Stannis took a bite of his pop tart, washed it down with a mimosa and smirked.

Maybe it was the mimosas or the sun or Robert challenging him to a swimming race to the rocks that Stannis managed to win, but the sun got higher and higher, and Sara was rounding them up and ushering them back onto the boat, and Stannis actually felt sad to leave.

“I love a woman in authority,” Oberyn purred as she hoisted him one-handed aboard. She ignored him and turned back to the engine, which caught with a roar. 

“Cut it out,” Stannis muttered as the boat began cutting back across the coastline, “she’s engaged.”

“Yeah aren’t the Yronwoods like super not big fans of yours?” Mace yawned.

“Stannis, a valuable lesson. Just because there’s a goalie…”

“Stop,” Stannis glared.

“Mace, you are correct as always, my good friend. But some might say it sweetens the pot,” Oberyn waggled his eyebrows. 

The boat bounced over a particularly large wave and soaked Oberyn to the bone.

“Sorry about that,” Sara called over her shoulder, dark eyes dancing in mirth. 

They waved goodbye to the Feathered Kiss some thirty minutes later, having hauled the remaining coolers onto the now empty beach by the cars.

Mace’s stomach growled.

“We’re having dinner at the Sandship,” Oberyn replied, as if in conversation with Mace’s stomach. Mace beamed.

“I thought we were having dinner at the Old Palace? Followed by tickets to Nymeria’s War?” Stannis asked wearily.

“Nope, we’re having dinner at the Sandship,” Oberyn grinned. 

“It’s pirate themed!” Oberyn told Beric cheerfully, and Beric self-consciously adjusted his eye-patch.

“All you can eat,” Mace assured Robert.

“All you can drink,” Oberyn told Thoros.

“And it becomes a club after hours,” Ned informed Stannis and Jaime proudly. Clearly he was very invested in ticking off all the traditional bachelor party activities.

“Sounds great,” Stannis managed, rather sleepily.

“I told Arthur to meet us,” Oberyn sighed heavily. “It’s the type of thing Doran would mention to the Daynes later.”

“I thought you liked Arthur,” Mace frowned.

“I did. But now he’s so intent on making things serious with Elia. They’re happy the way things are. Why does everything have to change?” Oberyn huffed.

“Marriage doesn’t have to change things,” Ned interjected timidly.

“Says the guy we never see because he’s got a wife and son,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“We never see him cuz he’s in Winterfell,” Robert slung an arm around Ned a trifle defensively. “Like sure things are changing, but wouldn’t it be boring if everything always stayed the same? We’re having cool new adventures! We’re killing it!”

Stannis wondered how drunk he was if Robert actually sounded like he was making sense.

“I’m team Oberyn,” Mace suddenly announced. Surprise surprise. “Everything’s been going way too fast. Meeting Alerie, getting married, having Loras... I was thinking about this the other day. Sometimes I think the moment I was truly happiest was spring break of our senior year in Myr.”

“Didn’t you spend like that entire time thinking you were going to have a heart attack?” Beric scrunched his face.

“Shhh! Not in front of the newbies!” Robert hushed him. 

“I’m not trying to be a downer,” Mace ignored them. “I just want to say that what we have right here is special too in its own right. So I wanted to propose a toast!”

Mace carefully took eight frozen shot glasses out of a cooler and poured something that looked neon blue into each of them from a thermos.

“What the hells is this?” Jaime held it up to the light dubiously.

“Tokio Electric Lemonade!”

“Can’t we just do normal shots?”

“Nope!”

Jaime scowled.

“You are my seventh least favorite person here,” he told Stannis.

“...There are only seven other people here.”

“To not growing up too fast,” Mace grinned, raising his shot glass. “We are still those five kids in Myr...”

“There were six of us,” Ned interjected. Stannis, who hadn’t even been invited on the Myr trip, rolled his eyes. 

“and here’s to recapturing that magic tonight!” Mace shouted.

Oberyn wolf whistled and the eight of them downed the electric blue concoction.

And then...

They had gone to that pirate restaurant? Had they seen Arthur? 

Stannis shifted in his bed uncertainly. That had only been yesterday up until like five o’clock. They’d been going to dinner, that was the plan. He remembered that, right?

He frowned.

Stannis didn’t remember anything after taking that shot. 

Stannis cracked a bleary eye open.

Bright. It was too fucking bright.

He twisted on his side, intending to see if Jaime was awake. 

But Jaime Lannister was gone.


	27. Beric (Vice and Wish 2 of 12)

Beric woke groggily, aware that he was half pinned down by Thoros. He struggled to extract his arm from under his drooling boyfriend without waking him, and then with a yawn, worked to get Oberyn’s grip around his waist loose. Once free of that, he sleepily pushed Ned’s leg off Thoros—that was his boyfriend Stark was spooning—and clambered over Thoros then Ned then Robert to get to the bathroom.

It was about the time that Beric put his foot down on Mace’s stomach where he was sleeping in a nest of couch pillows that he had the dawning sense that things had gone terribly awry in a way that he had perhaps experienced before.

“Sorry Mace,” he said slowly.

“S’fine,” Mace mumbled, turning over.

Beric backed away from the bed and rubbed his eyes.

Just because they were all in the same bed AGAIN and he couldn’t really remember what happened last night AGAIN didn’t mean...

He carefully rolled Robert over. Half his face was mottled purple and swollen into a black eye.

Shit.

But Ned was still here. Beric’s brain seized on the fact with relief, even as he moved Ned’s leg off Thoros a second time. Ned hadn’t disappeared, which meant probably things were fine and he had just blacked out because he did have a really low alcohol tolerance, especially considering who he was dating.

Beric cautiously crept toward the door, and then looked back, hoping that it had just been some kind of weird mirage and the bed would be empty except for Thoros.

Robert let out a snuffly grunt and rolled onto his stomach again. Ned shifted at the mattress movement and hooked his leg over Thoros once more.

No, their last day in Myr couldn’t have possibly repeated itself, Beric tried to console himself, as he pushed Ned’s leg off and then with a grunt deposited a very naked Oberyn between Ned and Thoros.

Oberyn yawned and wrapped his arms around Ned’s waist. Ned snuggled closer and over went the leg. Much better.

Statistically speaking, what were the odds? 

Beric wandered out into the common room, wincing at the disaster they had made. There was what looked like urine on the floor. Or beer? Beric leaned over and took a sniff. Definitely urine. A jaunty tricorne hat and a lacy thong on the coffee table. Buried in the ice bucket was an honest to goodness sword. And the entire couch looked like it had been clawed apart by a wild animal. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Okay, it couldn’t be like it had been before because Oberyn had been on that weird kick to find the cure to the hangover. He’d been crushing pills that entire week. Friday night, in contrast, there had been nary a drug in sight. And Beric for one had made a point of refusing to eat or drink anything Oberyn handed to him.

Beric proceeded into the bathroom, fished out a dead phone (Ned’s phone, fuck this was just like had happened before, but it couldn’t be because Ned was quite happily cuddling with Oberyn even now), and relieved himself.

He washed his face and blinked blearily at his reflection. 

Okay, he could do this, there was probably some perfectly logical explanation why six of the eight people in their group were camped out in his and Thoros’ room. 

Beric opened the door to Robert and Ned’s room hesitantly. There, set up next to the bed, was a bassinet. 

What.

Beric gulped and inched closer. With the feeling of someone in a horror movie, he carefully peeked over the side. 

A tiny baby with a floofy halo of black fuzz on its head was nestled there. As if sensing his presence, it gave an adorable yawn and opened its black eyes.

“Hi there,” Beric said nervously. The baby giggled. Beric edged out of the room and closed the door behind him. Then he leaned against it.

Had they abducted a baby?! Gods they were going to be in so much trouble. There was probably a manhunt going on this very minute, what if Cersei found out, she’d probably skin them all alive and this poor dark haired dark eyed baby would...

Wait a minute. Oberyn had dark hair. And dark eyes. Sure the baby was a little paler than him, but didn’t he mention a couple months ago that he’d just had a baby with a septa up north? The Northerners were a pale lot. Beric pressed his fingers to his temples, desperately trying to rationalize this. The septa probably wasn’t allowed to keep her baby, so she brought it to Oberyn and he’d installed it in one of the bedrooms while he found a nurse, so Doran wouldn’t find out? Because Beric definitely got the sense that Oberyn was a little intimidated by his older brother. 

With a sigh, Beric pushed open the door to Mace and Oberyn’s room, hoping (for the first time in his life) to see a young lady in a habit waiting for him. 

An enormous, simply enormous, dark grey direwolf was standing on the bed, its golden eyes locked onto Beric. He felt the breath rushing out of his lungs in a squeak, even as he saw the back legs bending, preparing to pounce. Acting purely on instinct, Beric threw himself to the left as the direwolf lunged with a snarl. Scrambling, he managed to slide back out the door and slam it shut even as it shuddered with the force of the direwolf’s second spring.

The sound of the door slamming apparently offended the baby’s sensibilities, and it began to wail.

The door to Jaime and Stannis’ room opened, and Beric braced. But it was only Stannis, his thinning black hair looking rumpled with sleep. Beric let out a sigh of relief.

“I think Jaime is missing,” Stannis said.

Beric flinched as his final feeble hope that this was not what he thought it was flickered out.

“Why is there a baby crying?” Stannis asked, seeing as Beric had made no response.

Beric was fumbling in his pockets for what he wanted.

“Is that piss?” Stannis wrinkled his nose at the floor.

His fingers closed on the item in question.

“Say Dondarrion, can you catch me up on what happened last night? My memory is a little...”

Beric blew his rape whistle loudly enough to wake the dead. 

Half an hour later found their party more or less dressed (minus Oberyn and Mace whose room was occupied by a direwolf) and in the common room. Thoros had pulled the sword from the chunk of ice in the ice bucket and used it to hack off enough for Robert to put on his face.

“I don’t see why you need to sleep naked,” Ned was glaring at (the still nude) Oberyn.

“Blame Thoros for stealing a direwolf and putting it in my room,” Oberyn shrugged.

“I didn’t steal a direwolf!” Thoros waved his sword. 

“Like you didn’t steal that elephant?”

“That’s objectively different! A direwolf is a predator! And like I’ve been mauled by a dog before, remember? I wouldn’t have stolen a direwolf!”

Oberyn looked unconvinced. As did Robert and Mace, who also remembered the elephant incident.

“You believe me don’t you?” Thoros asked Beric wanly.

“Of course,” Beric said firmly. Robert made a gagging sound.

“So we’ve lost Jaime, Thoros stole a direwolf, Robert probably has another Dothraki gang after him,” Mace began. “But what’s up with the baby? That wasn’t here last time.”

“Last time?” Stannis arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah in Myr—mmmf,” Mace was cut off as Robert clapped a hand over his mouth.

“We swore a vow of secrecy!” Robert scolded.

“That didn’t happen in Myr,” Ned frowned. “I was there, remember?”

“Except you weren’t there for the—,” Oberyn was cut off by Robert’s other hand.

“Does a vow of secrecy mean nothing to you guys?!” Robert whined.

Beric exchanged a glance with Thoros. Ned and Stannis were both looking supremely confused, and vows of secrecy or not, nothing was going to get done until they were all on the same page.

“The last morning in Myr, we woke up with no recollection of what happened the night before. Oberyn had accidentally poisoned us. It turned out that Robert had a fight with the khal of the local Dothraki, Thoros stole an elephant from the Golden Company, Mace married a stripper, and Oberyn accidentally stole sixty grand from the Tattered Prince. We thought he’d kidnapped you in retaliation, so we tried to ransom you back only to discover that his hostage was actually the girl Oberyn had brought home that night. Also we entered Robert in an underground boxing match and won a bunch of money,” Beric scratched his head, wondering if he was leaving anything out.

“What?” Stannis’ eye was twitching. Had it always done that?

“Wait, so the entire time I was just hanging out at the airport trying to move my flight, you thought I had been kidnapped?” Ned stared.

“Yup,” Robert nodded. “So Jaime is probably fine. Oberyn probably poisoned us. And Thoros probably stole that direwolf. But beats me about the baby.”

“Um I have a theory about that...” Beric began.

“I didn’t steal the direwolf!”

“I DIDN’T POISON YOU!”

Beric blew the whistle again. 

“Giving that to you was a mistake,” Stannis mumbled in the relative quiet.

“Look, there’s a dark haired, dark eyed baby in that room. I don’t see why it’s complicated. Who is most likely to have a child out of wedlock?”

Six people pointed at Oberyn. Oberyn pointed at Robert.

“I mean...” Thoros began, only for Robert to kick him.

“Didn’t you say you’d just had a baby?” Beric prodded Oberyn.

“Yes but...”

“Well had you seen it yet?”

“No but...”

“So why don’t you call your septa and ask her if she dropped off a child with you?” Beric growled.

“I can’t,” Oberyn admitted after a pause. “The sisters aren’t allowed electronics. I can call the sept?”

There was a minute or two of waiting.

“Um they haven’t seen her or her child in a day or two, but they say it’s normal. Lyene has family in the area she visits with,” Oberyn said hesitantly.

“Or she thought she’d take the opportunity to bring you the baby,” Beric pointed out. 

Ned had been keeping the child occupied, but at that, he handed him to Oberyn.

“C’mon, he could totally still be Robert’s!” Oberyn tried. “He’s more Robert’s skin tone, and Robert has black hair too!”

“Nuh-uh,” Robert crossed his arms. “He has dark eyes. All Baratheons have blue eyes.”

“...That’s not actually how genetics work, buddy,” Ned patted him on the shoulder. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Martell’s.”

“Fine,” Oberyn huffed, cradling him to his chest. “He’s too cute to be Robert’s anyway.”

“Okay, so that leaves finding Jaime and returning the direwolf,” Beric got them back on track.

“Jaime is totally at the airport, I’m not worried,” Robert yawned.

“Are we sure about that?” Stannis said, looking at his phone. He looked up at the group, face drawn. “Because I got a text this morning that says ‘Caught L snooping around the Water Gardens, threat neutralized, details to follow.’”

“Look, if Myr taught us anything, it’s that texting by initials allows for mixups,” Mace said earnestly. “It probably has nothing to do with Jaime.”

“It’s from Jaime’s cell phone number,” Stannis said flatly.

There was a dispirited pause.

“Well we all know what to do,” Beric sighed.

“We do?” Ned said, sounding rather frazzled. “Because I have literally no idea what to do about any of this.”

“We need to check our phones and our pockets for clues as to where we lost Jaime,” Robert patted Ned on the shoulder. “Relax, the last time was hilarious.”

“I have a sword,” Thoros struck a pose. “Umm nothing in my pockets.”

“My phone is out of juice. I’ll charge it after. And... I have a ticket to a pawn shop?” Robert offered. He frowned, looking around. “What could I have pawned though? Oh fuck, THE RING!”

“Right here,” Ned produced the ring from his pocket. “I would have never gotten so drunk that I let you carry it.”

“Thank the gods,” Stannis sighed. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“You’ll feel that way a lot for the next twenty-four hours,” Mace said sagely. 

“Okay, I had the ring. But I can’t find my phone,” Ned frowned, patting down his pockets.

“It was in the toilet. I left it on the bathroom counter,” Beric sighed. He’d had the whistle and a used condom (seriously?! He hoped the one on the tv wasn’t his). He checked his phone. 

“Nothing on my phone,” he said after a beat, trying to keep his face blank. Because there absolutely had to be some kind of rational explanation.

“I have a number on my arm and my phone is dead,” Oberyn offered.

A very logical and rational explanation.

Neither Stannis nor Mace had anything to contribute either, beyond Stannis’ text from Jaime’s phone. 

A very logical and rational explanation as to why he had ten missed calls.

“Robert, can I borrow some clothes?” Mace asked, with a nervous glance over his shoulder at the closed door beyond which a direwolf prowled.

From ten different numbers. Which were entered as ‘Beki from the Bar’ ranging to ‘Zenia Love Of Your Life’. Beric forced himself to put the phone away and focus.

Robert had procured Mace some gym clothes, as Mace (clearly rather embarrassed at his growing girth) turned his back to the group and wrestled his now very wrinkled shirt off and exchanged it for a Maesters tee shirt.

When he looked back, it was to find the entire group staring at him.

“It’s just a little dad bod,” he said self-consciously. 

“No,” Oberyn said flatly.

“Um my mom thinks it might be thyroid issue,” Mace mumbled, flushing red.

“No,” Beric pinched the bridge of his nose. “What Oberyn means to say is...” He trailed off, unable to continue.

There was an awkward pause.

“What?” Mace squeaked.

“Dude, you’ve got a tramp stamp of a rose on your ass,” Robert said bluntly.

The next few minutes were very loud. Mace proceeded to scream and then run in a circle trying to get a look at his backside. Oberyn, concerned that the noise would attract someone from Doran’s household and they would discover the disastrous mess the group had made, proceeded to launch himself at Mace’s head in an attempt to wrestle him to the ground. Now blinded, Mace ran straight into the plasma television, which dislodged from the walk with a crash and a shower of sparks. Robert was lying on the couch practically sobbing in laughter, as Ned and Stannis attempted to free the duo from beneath the television.

“I really don’t think I stole that direwolf,” Thoros edged over to Beric in the midst of the confusion. 

Beric tried to smile at him. He’d been avoiding eye contact since he’d checked his phone, firmly suppressing the last awful fact.

“I believe you,” he said, because he did. Just like he believed that there was a perfectly good reason that he’d had an hourlong phone conversation with Allyria Dayne at two in the morning.

“I’m going to keep the sword,” Thoros said cheerfully, leaning his head against Beric’s shoulder.

“Mmm,” Beric said neutrally. Allyria was a good friend, possibly their only friend who was initially Beric’s friend and not Thoros’. But Beric had once told his parents that he was dating Allyria before he came out to them as gay. And that had led to the one really terrible fight they’d ever had, a fight that still occasionally featured in Beric’s nightmares. And considering he’d legally died on two separate occasions, he was pretty sure his nightmares were more intense than most.

“Did you know mace is flammable? Like if you had a lighter and sprayed it, you’d have a mini flamethrower?”

“Mmm.” So there was probably some completely inane reason he’d had a heart to heart with Allyria at two in the morning. After collecting no fewer than ten women’s numbers. They had been supposed to meet up with Arthur Dayne after all, and he was Allyria’s cousin (although Beric knew the two branches of the Dayne family were not on good terms). And Beric had never thought of her (or any woman) in a more than a platonic way. Regardless of what Zenia, love of his life, might think. But that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to upset Thoros unnecessarily. Except him not telling Thoros made it seem way more sketchy, didn’t it? Oh gods, he was going to have to do this, wasn’t he?

“So in theory, you could coat the sword with mace and then light it, and have a fire sword!” Thoros continued, cheerfully oblivious.

“I got a ton of numbers from strange women and it looks like I spoke to Allyria Dayne at like two in the morning last night,” Beric blurted.

Right as Thoros said:

“Can I borrow that mace Stannis lent you?”

There was a beat as they both tried to figure out what the other person was going on about.

“I’m like a thousand percent sure that Allyria had something to do with Arthur and not us,” Thoros offered.

“That sounds dangerous and I will not help you make a fire sword,” Beric ventured.

“Sometimes it’s like I can't predict your reactions at all,” Thoros sulked. Beric couldn’t agree more.

“Okay,” Oberyn got the group’s attention, rubbing his head and glaring at Mace. “Mace and I have discussed...”

“Is that what we’re calling what just happened?” Stannis groused.

“...and we think we know where he got that tattoo. It’s a parlor in the Shadow City that we went to once in college and he chickened out before he got anything.”

“I didn’t chicken out, I thought better of a bad idea!” Mace wailed, looking at the rose in the mirror.

“It’s nothing that some laser treatments won’t fix,” Ned tried to calm him down.

“And how am I supposed to keep that from my mother?! From Alerie?!”

“So the plan should probably be to go to the shadow city and talk to the people at the tattoo parlor and see when we were there and if Jaime was with us,” Oberyn pressed on.

There was a ding from the charger in the corner as Robert’s phone came back online.

“Oh I got a text!” Robert said cheerfully. “It says...” he appeared stymied by his inability to see out of one eye. With a harrumph, Stannis snatched it from him.

“Caught L snooping around the Water Gardens, meet me at the airport, Long Term Parking Lot J at 2 to discuss the terms of surrender,” Stannis read. “It’s an unknown number.”

“I told you he was at the airport,” Robert said proudly, rather missing the point.

“It’s eleven now,” Mace pointed out. “The airport isn’t that close to the shadow city, we need to get over there and figure out what we’re dealing with before we negotiate the return of what is definitely the wrong hostage.”

“Okay!” Robert bounded to his feet. “I’ve always wanted to see the shadow city! I mean, I guess I did last night, but since I don’t remember...”

Ned and Stannis exchanged a glance.

“Maybe you should stay here,” Ned began. 

“Actually, you and Oberyn and Thoros should all stay here,” Stannis said flatly.

“What?”

“Wait no!”

“C’mon, I DIDN’T STEAL THE DIREWOLF!”

“It’s just your face looks terrible,” Ned said hastily. “And Oberyn needs to take care of his baby. And Oberyn’s phone is dead and we’ll need your phone for the meeting, so if Thoros stayed...”

“You are all incredibly irresponsible and I am not taking you to a hostage negotiation,” Stannis shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped out.

“Please Robert, just stay out of trouble until we get back?” Ned asked with puppy dog eyes as he moved toward the door.

“Ugh fine, good luck out there,” Robert sighed, and slapped Mace on the lower back.

“FUCK!” Mace yelped, grabbing at his still tender tattoo, and scampered after Stannis and Ned.

“You don’t think I’m incredibly irresponsible do you?” Thoros asked Beric, scratching his head with the sword.

“Oh, look at the time!” Beric squeaked, and ran after the rest.


	28. Brienne (Vice and Wish 3 of 12)

Brienne tried to take a deep breath as the spa attendant applied the mud mask, and lightly placed slices of cucumbers over her eyes. Her body was tightly bound in some kind of aluminum cocoon that was moisturizing her body while keeping it very warm.

So far so good right? She’d made the executive decision that they didn’t need a three day weekend together. She had booked them all a night at a five star spa resort on the Island of Faces that Vogue had called ‘a transcendent experience elevating the soul through purifying the body.’ 

Everybody had met up Saturday morning, they’d had a full day of waxing and manicures and pedicures and highlights and haircuts and eyebrow threading and body buffing. They’d had a classy dinner from the tasting menu, where everything came in spoon sized portions. And then they’d retired early because Brienne had scheduled them for all of the pampering treatments on Sunday.

She was trying to keep things low-key, because Cersei couldn’t drink, but she was prepared to concede that this hen party might be a bit duller than they tended to be portrayed on screen. Really, it was just as well that they’d had the massages this morning, because Brienne needed something to eradicate her building stress. She was tired, she was hungry, Cersei was clearly both as well and being unbearable, and Brienne knew it had only been a day but she missed Jaime. How many more weeks until this wedding? She was nearing the end of her rope.

Worse, the maid of honor’s dress had come. Cersei had insisted on ordering it a size smaller than Brienne actually was—proper motivation to stick with her diet—and it was still too tight. She had managed to get into it with great effort, but was keenly aware that if she so much as sneezed, seams would split.

“Psssst,” the voice whispered. 

Brienne tried not to frown, for she did not wish to crack her mud mask and make more work for her attendant.

There was a light touch, and then one of the cucumbers over her eyes disappeared. Melisandre stood over her, smirking. As Brienne tried not to raise her eyebrows, Melisandre popped the slice of cucumber in her mouth and crunched down.

“If I don’t get some real food in the next hour, I will be forced to resort to cannibalism,” Melisandre stated, matter of factly. “Are you in?”

“Mel, I really can’t,” Brienne tried to explain without moving her lips.

Melisandre rolled her eyes and ate her other cucumber slice.

“Why not?”

“I won’t fit into my dress,” Brienne tried to explain. “It came earlier this week and I can barely breathe in it.”

“I’ll let out some fabric for you. These dresses are designed to be fitted, I promise,” Melisandre sighed. “Believe it or not, I’m pretty good with a needle.”

Brienne hesitated. She knew it wasn’t the right thing to do but...

“Nobody will ever know,” Melisandre smirked, her voice tantalizingly confident.

Brienne bit her lip, and the movement inadvertently caused her mask to crack. Well now you’ve done it, she scolded herself. The attendant will have to redo the whole thing, at which point you may as well get up and stretch your legs.

She emerged from her aluminum cocoon, less like the promised rebirth of a Phoenix from the ashes, and more with a great deal of mud and crinkling.

“Why Miss Tarth, you’re beautiful,” Melisandre drawled, and Brienne flicked some mud at her. 

A quick dip into one of the plunge pools later, Brienne was making a break for freedom in cloth sandals and a fuzzy bathrobe.

“What’s the plan?” Brienne asked Melisandre as they furtively skirted the compound, looking for a way back to the main hotel.

“Well I’m not talking raiding the mini-bar. We are well past cashews. I want a slice of pizza from the greasiest dive I can find, or maybe a burrito from a food truck that smells like chorizo,” Melisandre had to wipe a strand of drool from her face.

“Wait,” Brienne froze, and Melisandre smacked into the back of her. “They collected our key cards at the front desk! We’re locked out from our rooms!”

“I have not come this far to be stopped because I didn’t have anything to wear,” Melisandre lifted her chin haughtily, gathered up her bathrobe, and continued on. Brienne gulped and followed.

It was always so easy for Melisandre, who simply floated over to one of the grounds-crew, wearing her robes like they were, well robes, and not a bathrobe, and demanded to be escorted to town. Brienne hovered behind, as Melisandre commandeered a golf cart, feeling a bit like an escapee from an asylum.

All the same, she wasn’t complaining, as the security gates slid open for their break to freedom. The half of the island that was not dedicated to the resort was mostly inhabited by locals who survived on the tourist day trade. Melisandre pushed the accelerator to the floor as she drove them toward town, and the speedometer crept from fifteen to perhaps seventeen miles per hour.

Brienne felt the breeze from the lake, and looked at the faces carved into all of the trees. Don’t judge me! She wanted to cry. You don’t know what I’ve been through!

Upon reaching town, there was a brief discussion of where to go.

“Oh look,” Melisandre grinned, slowing to a halt in front of a thrift store. “Bridesmaids dresses! Still time to ditch your dress entirely!”

“I probably wouldn’t fit into those either,” Brienne said glumly.

“Lame,” Melisandre rolled her eyes. Fortunately she was too hungry to press the matter further. Ten minutes later, they were sitting across from each other in the darkest booth they could find in the grottiest pub they could find—Cersei would never look for them here—as Melisandre dug into a four cheese macaroni with bacon bits and Brienne tried to eye her burger without drooling.

She felt less guilty than she thought she would, all things considered. Brienne reflected, as she wiped a smudge of ketchup from her face, that this might give her the fortitude to survive this afternoon mostly in once piece.

“Only seven hours until checkout,” Melisandre sighed contentedly. “What do we have to be back in time for?”

“We’re meeting the other girls at the hot springs,” Brienne checked the calendar on her phone. “I thought we could talk and play some bachelorette games this afternoon.”

“Bachelorette games? With Cersei?” Melisandre sounded dubious. Brienne flushed.

“Well it is a hen party! I looked a bunch up online, some of them seemed rather cute.”

“If you say so,” Melisandre wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me? I’d like an order of the fried jalapeño poppers to go?”

“The thing is,” Melisandre said around a mouthful of jalapeño popper, as they drove the golf cart back to the resort, “it’s Cersei.”

“I’m aware of that,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“And there’s no alcohol.”

“I am deeply aware of that.”

“Half of those silly games are only funny when everyone is hammered.”

“But it’s a hen party! We can’t just avoid each other and get spa treatments all weekend!”

“Fine,” Melisandre’s lips pursed in a moue of disapproval. Or maybe it was just the jalapeño popper. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Melisandre could be a little doom and gloom, Brienne consoled herself. There was no reason to think that things wouldn’t work out. Sure enough, they got to the grove where the hot springs were, to discover that only Catelyn Tully had gotten there first.

“Hi Catelyn,” Brienne waved. 

“Hi,” Catelyn replied tonelessly. Brienne and Melisandre exchanged a glance. Catelyn had been quite worked up over the situation with her father and Ned. And Brienne felt for her, truly. It was just she had been somewhat counting on Catelyn being somebody she could lean on this weekend, a pillar of good cheer and rationality to counterbalance Cersei. And well, it hadn’t worked out like that.

Catelyn heaved a wistful sigh and sank under the water entirely. There were only a few bubbles from where she sat at the bottom.

“Should I?” Melisandre started.

“I’m sure she’s just um meditating,” Brienne said. “The Tullys are all very good swimmers.”

The bubbles stopped. 

They both peered down into the water.

“On the other hand,” Brienne wrung her hands.

“On it,” Melisandre plunged into the water, hauling Catelyn up by her hair.

“He punched him in the face!” Catelyn said mournfully, by way of explanation.

They were saved by the sounds of Cersei and Lysa coming up the path.

“I feel the most deliciously dizzy, don’t you all?” Cersei beamed at them. 

“I think that’s the lack of caloric intake,” Melisandre snarked.

“So delicious!” Lysa agreed quickly.

“You know what they say—nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” Cersei shed her bathrobe and joined them. “You’ll get there eventually Brienne.”

Brienne tried to smile, and wondered if Cersei could see her little food-baby under the water. Hastily she crossed her arms.

“So we still have all day to kill before checkout,” Lysa chirped. “What should do?”

“Well,” Brienne said, stoically avoiding eye contact with Melisandre, “I thought we could play some bachelorette games in honor of the big day!”

“Oh fun!” Lysa clapped her hands.

Catelyn sighed and started to slip under the water again before Melisandre grabbed her.

“...games?” Cersei asked uncertainly. She did not seem familiar with the concept.

“Well okay, here’s a classic one. And you don’t even need to drink,” Brienne tried to explain. “I have here a box of chewing gum. I asked Robert twenty questions about your relationship. I’ll read you the question, and you have to guess his answer. If you get it wrong, you have to put a stick of chewing gum in your mouth. The more you get wrong, the more chewing gum is stuck in your mouth and you get all drool-y. It’s fun!”

“It sounds like public humiliation,” Cersei said.

“Well it’s just us bridesmaids, nobody will tell,” Brienne frowned.

“Well what if I get a question right? Do all of you take a piece of chewing gum?”

“I mean, I guess we could,” Brienne said uncertainly.

“Very well, you may begin,” Cersei said briskly. 

“Um where was your first date?”

“It was Sadie Hawkins of my junior year, but Robert will say it was the King’s Landing Dragons game he took me to that December.”

“Uh right,” Brienne glanced at the card in her hand, with Robert’s strangely childish handwriting. “Dragons v. Suns game.”

“You may each take your bubblegum now,” Cersei waved a hand imperiously. Brienne winced as Lysa and Melisandre favored her with decidedly annoyed looks.

“Okay,” Brienne said as she chewed, trying to find a harder one. “What is his favorite sex position.”

“Cowgirl,” Cersei replied promptly. “He’s so LAZY!”

A coincidence! Cersei and Robert had never seemed that in tune with one another, Brienne though as she passed around the gum once more. Surely it was just a matter of finding the right question?

Many, many sticks of chewing gum later...

“Wash ish hith pet peef ooooh do?” Brienne tried to read, swabbing at the saliva leaking from her mouth in vain.

“Oh give it here,” Cersei plucked the question card from her hand. “What is his pet peeve that I do?”

“Eee ettah get ith wrong!” Melisandre glared from behind her own wad of gum.

“Whah?” Brienne frowned, trying to make out the words.

“I ed eee ettah get ith wrong!” 

“Nothing,” Cersei replied, previously furrowed brow abruptly clearing. “He loves everything I do!”

“Ahah!” Brienne pointed. “No! Ith all-ays eeing on or phone!”

“What?” Cersei snapped. “Are you sure?”

Brienne looked down at the card.

_Always being on her phone. Lolz jk! I love everything she does <3_

Brienne looked guiltily up at a fuming Melisandre and Lysa. Even Catelyn had woken from her catatonic state to look a little put out.

“Tho Therthee winth,” Brienne spat out the enormous disgusting lump of bubblegum. 

“I love games!” Cersei clapped her hands enthusiastically. Everybody else scowled at Brienne.

“What’s next?” Cersei asked brightly.

Brienne swallowed. She had planned for their next game to be a zucchini-carving contest with the winner producing the most lifelike penis. But somehow, giving knives to the other girls at this exact moment seemed ill-advised.

She frantically consulted the Pinterest page on her phone.

“Well that’s a drinking game,” she mumbled as she looked at the next option. “... and so is that. Um that’s an icebreaker when people don’t know each other... that’s another drinking game.”

She looked up guiltily.

“Maybe we just talk for a little bit?”

Cersei’s expression had soured.

“Sooo,” Brienne looked around the circle frantically... “Lysa! What have you been up to?”

“Well,” Lysa’s rather pale blue eyes lit up and she preened, not accustomed to being the center of attention. “I’m finding myself in the middle of a love triangle!”

“Oh?” Brienne said politely.

“Well you see, my high school boyfriend Petyr and I have been together for years and years! Seven years actually. And three months and six days. And I always thought he was the love of my life! But what if he isn’t? You see, there’s been some... fidelity issues. It’s not his fault exactly, he just has some needs that are a little outside my personal comfort zone. If I were better at satisfying him, he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere! So I’ve tried to be patient, but it feels like it’s getting worse, not better. And he’s so wrapped up in his stupid photography thing and never has any time for me!” Lysa pouted.

“Then on our family trip, I met the most marvelous older man. He’s sophisticated and charming and so well read! He’s very kind and always interested in what I have to say. And I always thought Petyr was the love of my life, but now I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be better off taking a chance on this other guy!”

“It’s Mr. Arryn from senior English,” Catelyn said flatly from her corner of the hot springs. 

“Wait, Jon Arryn?” Cersei sat up. “He gave me an A Minus on my essay on Wuthering Heights! An A MINUS!”

“But seducing your high school teacher? I love it!” Melisandre grinned. “Lysa, you have hidden depths!”

“I just don’t know who to choose,” Lysa beamed, a mixture of emboldened and abashed by the sudden surge of interest in her life.

“It doesn’t matter,” Catelyn said glumly. “They’ll only disappoint you.”

“I’m sure they are both equally good options,” Brienne jumped in, anxious not to let Catelyn bring the mood down. Personally, she did think it was kind of weird to date your former high school teacher, and she did not have fond memories of Petyr Baelish.

“There is no such thing as equally good options,” Cersei stated matter of factly. “Only whether or not you can figure out which one is better.”

“But I have to figure out who to ask to Daddy’s brunch tomorrow,” Lysa fretted. “I can’t possibly figure it out in one afternoon.”

“Well who is the sex better with?” Melisandre asked.

“I haven’t had sex with Jon yet, he wants to wait until we’re exclusive,” Lysa blushed. “But Petyr... he does this thing with his tongue and his fingers that—“ she leaned over to whisper something in Melisandre’s ear. Brienne was relieved. She didn’t really need to hear what Petyr Baelish did with his tongue or his fingers.

“So Petyr gets the nod there,” Melisandre said slowly. 

“But like, Jon says the nicest things! Look at this text he sent me!”

_I woke up this morning thinking of you—you must have been in my dreams! Regardless, you are in my heart :)_

“That’s so romantic!” Brienne blurted, touched by the sweetness.

“I don’t think Stannis has sent me a text like that ever,” Melisandre agreed.

“But that doesn’t help me pick!”

“These are basically the different love languages,” Cersei said thoughtfully. “Physical touch and words of affirmation. Who buys you better presents?”

“  
What?” Lysa frowned.

“Well you have the other three left. Receiving gifts, acts of service and quality time. Whomever is better in more of the love languages. That’s your answer as to who the better fit is,” Cersei explained.

“I don’t know if I can compare them—especially since I haven’t spent as much time with Jon,” Lysa chewed her lip uncertainly. “I definitely couldn’t figure out the answer by tonight when I have to invite one of them.”

“Unless you set up a series of tests for them this afternoon,” Cersei offered, sounding far too intrigued for Brienne’s comfort.

“Tests?”

“A competition! Tell them you’re dying to see them and that they have to bring you a present!”

“A competition?”

“Wait, I don’t know that this is such a good idea...” Brienne had a distinct sensation that things were spiraling out of control.

“It’s like a bachelorette game!” Cersei beamed at her. 

Brienne gave a pleading look at Melisandre.

“It’s not really a bachelorette game,” Melisandre interjected smoothly. Thank you gods. “...unless we all bet on the outcome.”

What.

“What did you have in mind? I’m afraid you girls have used up most of the chewing gum.” Cersei smiled, showing a few too many teeth.

“Whomever loses has to take the winners out to a place of the winners’ choosing...”

Cersei frowned, not terribly excited at the prospect of allowing her little chicks to eat.

“...wearing an outfit of the winners’ choosing,” Melisandre finished, crossing her arms.

“Deal,” Cersei announced promptly. “I pick Petyr.”

“Jon Arryn,” Melisandre smirked.

“It doesn’t matter. Our father will just drive him away,” Catelyn said apathetically. Cersei and Melisandre glared. “...Petyr,” Catelyn sighed.

“I don’t know that we should be turning Lysa’s love life into some kind of game show!” Brienne protested.

“Oh I don’t mind,” Lysa said brightly.

“Unless you wanted to keep going with the bubble gum game? You skipped a couple of the questions, I noticed,” Cersei responded pointedly.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow.

“I take Jon Arryn too,” Brienne caved. It was just such a lovely text.

“Perfect. Now here’s what I’m thinking for Round One,” Cersei leaned forward, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. And against her better judgment, Brienne leaned in as well.


	29. Oberyn (Vice and Wish 4 of 12)

Oberyn finished wrapping the baby to his chest with the wrap carrier he’d used the last time Nymeria and Nymeria came to visit. The baby tilted his head back and giggled. Oberyn smirked down at him, carefully lifting his aviators and placing them on the baby’s nose.

Even though he and Thoros were essentially on babysitting duty (and he was referring to Robert, not the literal child strapped to his chest), he was in a great mood.

The reason was that he was in possession of a scrap of information that nobody else knew.

Unless he was very much mistaken, the sword that Thoros was currently using to mock fight a poker-wielding Robert was the Sword of the Morning. Aka Dawn, aka a priceless family heirloom of the Dayne family.

“I’m thirsty,” Thoros yawned, leaning on the sword like a walking stick.

Oberyn took a moment to visualize the expression of horror and outrage on Arthur Dayne’s face if he were here right now.

“Why don’t you use that sword to cut up some oranges for us?” Oberyn offered. “I’ll make mimosas and we can walk around the historic district. It’s all open container.”

“I love it here,” Thoros said dreamily.

“Less talking, more chopping,” Oberyn pushed him.

He had always gotten along well with Arthur and his younger sister Ashara. They were another old Dornish family who kept a pied a terre in King’s Landing so their children could attend the best schools. He and Elia had played with Arthur and Ashara often growing up. It had actually been through Arthur that Elia had met Rhaegar, way back in middle school.

Arthur had already graduated when the whole Rhaegar and Lyanna fiasco had happened, so it hadn’t even interfered with their friendship. And when Elia and Arthur had begun dating, Oberyn had been even a little relieved. It wasn’t healthy to nurse a broken heart for two years. Arthur was a safe rebound who could be counted on to treat Elia well. But maybe too well. She was 24 years old, what was the rush?!

So while he had no idea how they had managed to get a hold of Dawn, he couldn’t help but think good riddance to a certain charmingly modest Dornish swordsman who ran around sweeping certain sisters off their feet.

Once their phones were recharged Oberyn ushered Robert and Thoros out the door, thermoses of mimosas in hand (and keeping a wary eye out for Doran) and gave a deeply contented sigh. This was was the life. Let the others worry about Lannister and how the disappearance of the bride’s brother might impact the wedding. 

Ugh, the wedding.

He had always assumed Ned would get married depressingly early. Elia naturally. Arthur a bit of a surprise. Mace totally left field. But Robert?! ROBERT?!

Somehow Oberyn had always assumed that even if Elia and Doran and all his friends settled down, he could still count on Robert to be cheerfully stag. Was Oberyn going to be the awkward single guy at a thousand children’s birthdays?? He was Oberyn Nymeros Martell, for the seven’s sake! He didn’t do awkward!

“What a cutie!” An elderly woman approached him. Oberyn preened.

“What’s his name?”

Oh fuck she was talking about the kid.

“Daemon,” Oberyn said smoothly. “Daemon Sand.”

Right. Another fact he’d kept to himself.

“Awwww, you’re lucky to have such a super dad! Where’s your mommy?”

About this kid.

“His other daddy is right here,” Oberyn casually slung his arm around Thoros, just to see the woman’s face. 

“We used a surrogate and a special cocktail. So really either of us could be the biological father,” he continued.

The woman glanced at the black haired dark eyed baby and then at red haired blue eyed Thoros. 

“Right,” she mumbled and backed away.

“Shove off,” Thoros pushed him.

“Hey! Baby on board!” Oberyn huffed.

The second bit of information that Oberyn had kept to himself was that there was no possible way this kid was Oberyn’s. Because Lyene sent him a letter that referred to his new daughter Tyene and used female pronouns throughout. And unless the sept was way way more comfortable with gender fluidity than he gave them credit for, he was pretty sure that meant little Tyene was not rocking the parts that this baby was equipped with.

He had neglected to share that fact for two reasons. The first was that he already had more than twice as many kids as Ned or Mace, let alone the rest of the crew. If anybody was equipped to hang out with some stranger’s baby for an afternoon, it was definitely him. 

“Awww, your son is adorable! You must be so proud!” Another, significantly more age appropriate, woman cooed.

“It’s hard as a single father but I do my best,” Oberyn smiled.

“Divorced?” The woman looked sympathetic.

“Widower,” Oberyn gave a tragic and wistful sigh.

“And so young!” His new friend shook her head.

“It is hard sometimes. But I know in my heart, she’d want me to move on with the right person,” Oberyn began.

The woman simpered.

Hello reason number two. As Oberyn flirted, he reflected that he might have to consider keeping little Daemon Sand around long term. The boy was really earning his keep.

“Hey, let me try,” Robert nudged him once Oberyn had collected her number.

“Sorry, only actual fathers can pull off this move,” Oberyn sniffed.

Thoros coughed and Robert kicked him.

“C’mon, that’s not a real rule,” Robert whined.

Oberyn was saved from having to answer by the chime of his phone.

“Sorry got a text,” he said glancing down.

_I have L. Meet me in the shadow of the Tower of the Sun at 2._

“What?” Robert said, looking over his shoulder.

“Huh,” Thoros said, looking over his other shoulder.

“It’s not the same number as the text Robert got,” Oberyn frowned.

“And it’s a completely different location,” Thoros scratched his head.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Oberyn grinned.

“That we should check this out?” Thoros was also starting to smile.

“Ned said to stay here you guys,” Robert warned.

“Here like in the Water Gardens. We’ve already broken that rule,” Thoros waved a hand airily.

“We’re helping them,” Oberyn explained. “They can’t be in two places at once.”

Besides, why should Stannis and Ned and Mace and Beric get to have all the fun?! He couldn’t think of four individuals it was more wasted on.

“Well,” Robert wavered.

“Grrrglag,” Daemon said.

“Fine,” Robert caved immediately.

“Let’s head back to the Water Gardens and find this guy a car seat,” Oberyn patted his little curls.

Further buoyed by this intriguing text, Oberyn practically sauntered back to his brother’s. There was some formula in the room under the bassinet. He could heat that up and then... 

The intercom buzzed.

“Hello?” Oberyn asked.

“Sir, Arthur Dayne is here to see you. Shall I escort him to your suite?” One of his brother’s staff asked politely.

“Of course,” Oberyn said slowly. The intercom beeped off.

“Shit! Thoros, pull that throw over the sofa! Robert, grab a towel and get the floor!” Oberyn picked up the destroyed television and tried to prop it back up on its console table with mixed success. That would have to do—he threw the women’s panties in the bathroom, dumped the bottles and assorted other detritus in the trash—Thoros had cleared the floors and was ‘leaning’ against the television to hold it in place and Robert was sprawling semi casually on the couch in an attempt to keep the throw rug in place and conceal as much of the remaining couch as possible.

Daemon gurgled, and Oberyn hastily unwrapped him and put him in the bassinet that had been left in Robert’s room. And then put the bassinet in the closet. And then shut the door. And then the door to that room.

There was a knock from the hall.

Oberyn frantically scanned the common area. He thought it held up to inspection reasonably well. Robert was half lying to cover as much of the couch as possible and Thoros had put the sword down to prop up...

Fuck, the sword!

There was a second knock, and as the handle turned, Oberyn hastily shoved it into the umbrella stand with one hand as he swung open the door with the other.

“Arthur!” Oberyn gave him an enthusiastic hug, turning him with his back to the umbrella stand, even as he kicked the door shut in the maid’s face.

Arthur had black hair and striking violet eyes. He was not quite as tall nor as broad shouldered as Robert, but it was close, and he moved with a lithe gracefulness that was almost feline. And where Robert had never quite lost his baby fat around the face, making him look perpetually younger than he was, Arthur Dayne‘s jawline could have been chiseled from stone. Basically, Oberyn had always been just slightly resentful that Arthur was straight. 

“Oberyn,” Arthur said stiffly, taking off his sunglasses, and Oberyn noticed that he too sported a black eye. Robert and Thoros awkwardly waved while trying to move as little as possible from their stations.

“Look, last night got out of hand,” Arthur began sternly. “Obviously we all had far far too much to drink, but I want it back.”

Robert and Thoros both looked nonplussed. Oberyn tried not to glance at the umbrella stand.

“Right,” Robert said uncertainly. “So when you say you want it back...”

“I am not leaving this room until it is in my hands,” Arthur growled. “You might have won last night, but I assure you I’m sober now.”

He was advancing on Robert, who was still awkwardly half slouching half lying on the couch. Unable to move, Robert craned his neck to maintain eye contact.

“Won?” Robert said.

“Our stupid bet, who was the better boxer,” Arthur said impatiently. “Now stand up gods damnit.”

“...No,” Robert said after a pause.

“Robert Baratheon, you fucking child, stand up or I swear...”

“You had a boxing fight?” Oberyn interjected.

Arthur shot him a sour look.

There was a muffled sound of a baby crying, and Arthur wheeled.

“What the hells?!”

“Ahem,” Thoros cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry I think it’s allergies, it makes my throat itch.”

Another muffled cry.

Thoros immediately dissolved into a coughing fit to conceal it.

“If you’ll just excuse me,” he mumbled edging toward Robert’s room without ever loosening his grip on the television. Finally, he slowly let go. It stood on its own power, and with a sigh of relief, Thoros hurried for the other room, swinging the door shut after him.

As it slammed, the television slowly toppled over and landed on the ground with a crash.

“What just... you know what, I don’t care,” Arthur massaged his temples. “Where the fuck is it?! Is it in here?” He stormed toward the room with the direwolf.

“Woah,” Oberyn scurried to intercept him, gently steering his shoulders back toward the room. And accidentally toward the umbrella stand. “Arthur!” He continued the spin until they had gone a full three quarter circle.

“Martell,” Dayne glared at him. “Start explaining. Now.”

“I was hoping you could do the same,” Oberyn said in a soothing tone. “You see, you find us somewhat... memory impaired.”

“What?”

“We were wasted. Blotto. Blacked out.”

“We can’t remember shit,” Robert contributed helpfully.

“You’re telling me you don’t remember what happened last night?” Arthur said slowly.

“And since you seem to...” Oberyn prodded. “I only ask because I trust you. You are one of my very best friends.”

Arthur made an incredulous sound.

“That’s not what you were saying last night! I had gotten the ring that I’m going to propose to Elia with...”

Wait, WHAT.

“And you told me that I had to prove myself worthy of Elia by winning a challenge.”

“A challenge?” Oberyn repeated.

“Yeah, against one of your stupid friends,” Arthur scowled.

“Hey!” Robert protested from the couch.

“Only I kept losing! Like the first was just to go up to a girl with your friend with the eye patch and she had to give me her number instead of him. But we went up to like ten girls and he got the number EVERY TIME! He wasn’t even trying!”

Heh. Okay that was kind of funny.

“So then you had me do this drinking game with that guy,” Arthur pointed towards the room where Thoros had disappeared to console the baby. “Who could do the most shots in a minute.”

Wait, this was hilarious. He loved drunk Oberyn.

“And then after I got crushed by that, and could barely see straight, you had me box Robert in the parking lot!”

“Oh I’m great at that,” Robert said. Arthur glared at him, or Oberyn assumed that’s what he was doing under all the bruises.

“And then you said to make it interesting, Robert and I should bet our engagement rings on the outcome, because Robert had gotten Cersei’s resized earlier,” Arthur poked Oberyn in the chest.

Oh this was just too wonderful.

“So what you’re saying is...”

“You hustled me out of my engagement ring! And if you don’t give it back right now, the next time I come, I will have Dawn and I will be using it to separate your heads from your shoulders,” Arthur growled.

This really seemed to be one of those good news bad news situations. 

The good news was that it sounded like last night was amazing and that drunk Oberyn was an absolute prince.

The bad news was that they definitely didn’t have the ring. And it sure sounded like Arthur hadn’t realized Dawn was missing, and he should under no circumstances be allowed to look at the umbrella stand.

“So the ring,” Oberyn began. “We will absolutely get it for you.”

“What do you mean get it for me?” Arthur grabbed Oberyn by the shoulders. “It’s not here?! Where the fuck is it?!”

“It’s not here, it’s ah...” Oberyn looked at the ceiling for inspiration. 

“With Ned,” Robert interjected. Oooh nice one.

Arthur wheeled on him, still holding Oberyn in a death grip.

“Explain,” Arthur growled.

“We’ve misplaced Lannister. Ned is off hunting him down with Stannis and Mace and Beric. He has the ring because I’m not to be trusted with valuables. I’d probably pawn it or something.”

Oberyn really respected Robert’s skills as an improvisational liar. Also he had definitely pawned Arthur’s ring. They should probably work on getting that back.

“Lannister?” Arthur frowned. “He was with you last night at the strip club. Everybody was there but him,” Arthur waved at the direction Thoros had gone, “and the guy with the eyepatch. Beric.”

Probably off stealing direwolves.

“What happened at the strip club?” Robert asked.

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

“Anything unusual could be helpful for tracking Jaime down,” Oberyn said smoothly.

“But also like did I get a lap dance? Was she hot? Are there pictures?”

Arthur sighed.

“You got several. Your friend Ned took plenty of photos. And the only unusual thing was Oberyn got us kicked out trying to take pictures of Edgar Yronwood in the private room. It sucked, a bunch of us had tabs open on our cards that we couldn’t close. I think some of the regulars at the club took advantage—my account’s been frozen for fraudulent activity.”

“Yronwood was there?” Oberyn frowned.

“Getting the full service treatment it appeared. Anyway, we left around two in the morning and you appeared to be heading back to the Water Gardens. Jaime Lannister was present and accounted for.”

Arthur appeared to have calmed down somewhat, under the mistaken impression that his ring was in good hands. Oberyn thought now might be the appropriate time to escort him out.

“So we’ll call you the second Ned gets back and you can pick up the ring,” Oberyn said, walking him toward the door.

“Great, I didn’t mean to come on so strong, I just woke up this morning and was really freaked out,” Arthur was saying.

“It happens to all of us,” Oberyn accepted his apology with a wave of the hand.

“Thanks, and I owe you man for that fight!” Arthur turned over his shoulder to shout cheerfully at Robert. Robert guffawed, Oberyn opened the door, everyone was happy.

Arthur, turning back, looked at the umbrella stand. Oh no.

His head tilted.

There was only one thing to do.

“Is that—“ Arthur began, only to be cut off by Oberyn kissing him firmly on the mouth.

“What the fuck Martell!”

“Welcome to the family,” Oberyn purred. The door slammed.

“Is it safe?” Thoros poked his head out, baby in his arms.

“Yup,” Robert straightened up.

“What’d I miss?”

“We have to go the pawn shop and get Arthur Dayne’s ring back. Jaime was at the strip club. You were not,” Oberyn shrugged.

“Oberyn got to first base with his future brother in law,” Robert added.

“No accounting for taste,” Thoros shrugged.

“Yes some of us prefer Olympic athletes and some prefer blond beanpoles who blush if you say ‘balls’. Unfathomable,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“So the pawn shop?” Robert asked.

“Found a car seat in there,” Thoros jerked his head. 

“I’ll bring the car around,” Oberyn offered. Oh. The car. He really really hoped the Dragon was okay. There were only like three in existence.

Fortunately, it sat perfectly parked in the garage. Oberyn let out a sigh of relief and circled it, just to make sure there wasn’t any scratches he was missing. It appeared pristine. He got in and started the engine, and pulled it out into the road, preparing to drive it up to the main entrance.

THUMP! 

Uh oh. He looked around. Had he hit something?

THUMP!

Was that... coming from the trunk?

THUMP!

Oberyn sped up slightly, since he could hardly stop in the middle of the street. Had they locked Jaime in the trunk as some kind of practical joke? Drunk Oberyn had certainly been on a role last night, and if he were honest he would admit that there was something about Lannister’s attitude that had always annoyed him slightly...

THUMP!

“I’m coming!” Oberyn shouted, as he pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Robert was holding the baby, Thoros had the car seat, both patiently waiting some ten yards distant.

“He’s in the trunk!” Oberyn called to them, as he swung out of the driver’s seat and ran around. He flipped the latch, already wincing at what promised to be a rancid temper tantrum.

Instead, a naked middle aged man that was emphatically not Jaime Lannister stared up at him.

“AHHH!” Oberyn jumped back.

“AAAARRG!” The man surged up and forward, wielding a tire iron indiscriminately.

Fuck! Oberyn stumbled, barely sidestepping the first swing and blocking the second with his forearm, which sent a spiraling pain through the entire right side of his body. His pasty opponent pressed his advantage, getting in at least five more blows, mostly to Oberyn’s arms where he was shielding his face, and one hard strike to the ribs, before he saw Robert and Thoros running toward them.

Evidently deciding that three on one was not good odds, even with a tire iron, the naked assailant whipped it at Robert’s face and fled.

“Fuck,” Oberyn groaned, trying to straighten. “I think he broke my fucking arm.”

“Who the fuck WAS that?” Thoros stared after him.

“Fuck if I know,” Robert scratched his head with the tire iron, which he’d managed to catch one-handed. “Did he look just a little familiar to you?”

“He did not,” Oberyn wheezed. “Now go get the baby. We’ve got to get to the pawn shop or we’re fucked.”

“Maybe first the hospital,” Robert said tentatively, poking at Oberyn’s right arm.

“FUCK!”


	30. Ned (Vice and Wish 5 of 12)

“It’s going to be okay,” Catelyn had taken Ned’s chin in her hand the morning after the Incident, bringing his gaze from the ground up to meet her.

They had met at six in the morning, by the river in the Tully’s backyard, where they had used to sneak kisses in the groves of willows in high school. In high school, before Hoster Tully had realized how serious they were about each other, when he welcomed Ned with a benevolent smile and a question about his father or his brother. Before they had gotten married and Hoster had glowered disapprovingly through the entire ceremony. Before he had ceased talking to Ned entirely. Before he had started sabotaging their marriage and Ned had reacted like the deadbeat that Hoster Tully had always thought he was.

“Is it?” Ned asked dolefully. “I’m so sorry Cat, I don’t know what came over me, I feel terrible.”

“It wasn’t... ideal,” she admitted, eyebrows briefly knitting, and he wanted to kiss the wrinkle away. Instead he settled for kissing Robb, half asleep in his arms.

“You know his behavior has been every bit as appalling as yours,” Cat continued. “I just... it would have made things easier if you hadn’t stooped to his level.”

“I can’t think what came over me! I don’t even understand how I got the idea in the first place,” Ned groaned. “It’s just so out of character!”

“Look, at the end of the day, I love you and you love me, and that will always be enough. But if there’s a way for me to do this without losing my relationship with my father, I’d like to try,” Cat sighed, pressing her head into his chest. Ned shifted Robb to his hip and wrapped his free arm around her, a three-person hug that brought his arms around everything he needed in life.

“Of course Cat, I’ll do anything,” Ned promised into her hair.

Anything turned out to be a family brunch brokered by Catelyn the Monday after the Dorne trip. Ned’s father, who had always gotten along well with Hoster Tully, would be there, as would Brandon. Brandon had promised to act like an obnoxious cad to remind Hoster that high-powered political careers weren’t EVERYTHING. Ned would swallow his pride and grovel and Hoster would apologize for how he acted. In theory. Or that’s what Cat thought would happen anyway. Ned had his doubts. Regardless, Ned primarily had to show up Monday at eleven sharp.

“It’ll be fine,” Robert had promised on the plane. “If anything, the problem is that you accidentally antagonized him. Have you tried intentionally antagonizing him?”

“When I’m attending your funeral after some ‘accident’, I’ll remember that,” Ned said drily.

“Listen,” Mace had said earnestly. “Why even get involved? When I knocked up Alerie, you can bet I was persona non grata at the Hightower household. But then my mother went and spoke to Old Leyton and next thing I knew it was all settled. Just send in your father and call it a day.”

“Well my father will be there,” Ned winced. “But I don’t know that he can produce quite the effect of Olenna Tyrell. She is unique in that regard.”

“No no no,” Thoros made a warding gesture when Ned tried to bring it up by the pool Friday evening. “This is not my forte. Just don’t get a haircut, you‘ll spend the rest of the year trying to grow it back.”

“You are a kind husband, a good father, and you love his daughter endlessly,” Beric said firmly at dinner. “He will see how happy you make her and he will find at the end of the day that’s all that matters. Even if you aren’t quite who he imagined Cat would end up with.”

“You think?” Ned said hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Beric smiled. “It worked out for me.”

Beric’s calm confidence was contagious. Friday evening went perfectly, the Saturday surprise boat ride impeccably executed, and as they motored back to Sunspear, Robert collapsed half on top of Ned.

“This is the best stag ever,” he said sleepily. Ned beamed. Oberyn had arranged for an evening in the shadow city next—including dinner and a strip club—and then Ned would have done his duty. They could sleep off their hangovers tomorrow, and he had a six p.m. flight back to King’s Landing, landing at ten, and he would be bright eyed and appropriately chagrined at brunch the next morning.

That was the plan. How it had devolved into standing outside a tattoo parlor as Mace tried to convince the owner to pull security footage quite escaped him.

“There’s no law that I have to pull security footage just because you ask,” the owner growled.

“But there is a law against giving intoxicated customers roses on THEIR FUCKING ASSES!” Mace roared.

Ned wasn’t sure this was going anywhere fast. Apparently Stannis agreed.

“What my companion means to say,” he interjected. “Is that if you pull the tapes, I will pay you two hundred dragons,” he emptied his billfold. “And if you do not, we will be contacting the Better Business Bureau.”

The bills vanished. Ned was glad that Robert had invited Stannis, and doubly glad that Stannis had deigned to come.

“Look, I’m going to get some more cash. This has the feeling of an expensive day,” Stannis rubbed his forehead.

Which left Ned to stare blankly at footage of the eight of them laughing and drinking and Mace stumbling over to the chair and promptly passing out. Ned watched through partially covered eyes as Oberyn leaned over to talk to the tattoo artist. Was he supposed to take anything away from this? Other than that was definitely Jaime shaking his head as Mace snored?

Ned sighed. All he wanted was to throw his best friend, his brother in all but blood, the best stag ever. And be home in time for brunch tomorrow with his appalling father in law.

Speaking of appalling father in laws, what would Tywin Lannister’s reaction be to his eldest son’s disappearance?

He looked over to Stannis, who was scowling at an ATM. Beric, who was talking rather animatedly on his cell phone. Mace, who was still arguing with the owner of the tattoo parlor.

“Do you know my bank account has been frozen for fraudulent activity?” Stannis growled after a minute.

“Um, Allyria Dayne just told me that Oberyn bet me and Thoros five hundred dragons that we couldn’t steal the Dayne ancestral family sword. And she spent an hour on the phone walking us through her family’s security settings,” Beric looked on the verge of a panic attack.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I PUT IT ON MY MOTHER’S CARD?!” 

Mace actually was having a panic attack.

Ned got the distinct impression that his troops were in disarray.

“Listen, Lannister was here,” Ned said, trying to be encouraging. 

“Do you think that sword in the ice bucket was the Daynes’ ancestral family sword?” Beric asked anxiously.

“So I think we should figure out where we went next,” Ned pressed on.

“If my account is frozen, then Robert’s cards are too, I routed all of his spending to go through mine so I could keep an eye on it,” Stannis frowned.

“Sir, did we say anything about where we were going next?” Ned asked the owner.

It took Mace emptying his own bill fold to procure an answer.

“The Sandship,” the owner snatched at the cash.

Mace thankfully knew where that was, and the group trudged deeper into the warrens of Sunspear’s infamous black market. It was more bar than restaurant, casual and even at a late lunch hour, operating at a dim roar. 

“Well at least we know we here,” Stannis sighed. Ned looked over and Stannis jerked his head at the board.

Sure enough, under a list of banned customers, was a Polaroid of Robert grinning, face bloody.

“...is that Arthur Dayne?” Mace squinted at the photo next to it.

Ned stared. Arthur had been two years ahead of them in Prep, brilliant, popular, an all star athlete. He’d also been Ned’s girlfriend at the time’s older brother, and Ned had a tendency to get tongue-tied in his presence. When Ashara had dumped Ned on her way to college (it was amicable—even if he’d been disappointed, he recognized that she was not somebody who could make long distance work), Arthur had sent him a very kind text expressing his disappointment and best wishes for what would be an undoubtedly bright future. Ned still had the text saved somewhere, he occasionally pulled it out and reread it when he was feeling down. 

And here Arthur was, right next to Robert in the bar’s hall of shame, wincing at the flash of the camera and looking like he’d just been run over by a truck. Had they fought? That was impossible! Robert loved Arthur. EVERYBODY loved Arthur.

Accessing the security footage here took Beric emptying his wallet, and then they were treated to... well a disaster.

“Why am I hitting on all of those girls in front of ARTHUR DAYNE!” Beric groaned. “Well and Thoros. But also ARTHUR DAYNE!”

“Is he doing shots with Thoros?” Stannis frowned. “I can’t see that ending well.”

“Why am I handing the engagement ring to Robert?!” Ned pulled at his hair. “Never give the engagement ring to Robert!”

“Seriously,” Mace shook his head. “Trust me, rings turn out to be huge hassles in these scenarios.”

They all watched in silence as Robert and Arthur appeared to hand rings to Oberyn and walked out the door.

“Well Jaime is still with us at ten pm,” Stannis noted, pointing to the screen where Jaime had buried his head in his arms.

“Did you happen to hear where we were headed next?” Beric asked the manager hopefully.

“A strip club. The Dornishman’s Wife is the closest,” the manager said.

There was a pause.

“We’re supposed to show up for the hostage exchange at two,” Ned said at length.

“Oh it’s super close though, we definitely have time to visit the strip club,” Mace pointed out.

“You never know with traffic around here, and I really don’t feel comfortable speeding,” Beric interjected.

“What traffic? It’s in the middle of the day on a Sunday!” Mace gestured out the window to where there were no cars.

“Plus we should get there early, scout out the terrain,” Stannis said, lifting his voice to talk over Mace.

“What terrain?! We’re meeting some dude at the airport long-term parking lot! They are the same in every city!”

“Great point, Stannis,” Ned nodded.

“It’s a stupid point!”

“So we’re all agreed that we can skip the strip club?” Beric asked hopefully.

“NO!” Mace shouted.

“Absolutely,” Stannis said quickly.

“To the airport!” Ned cheered. He always liked when everybody got along.

Airport Long Term Parking Lot J did look the same as all other airport parking lots, Ned was prepared to admit. And since there was no traffic, Beric made very good time.

“Do you see anyone?” Ned whispered to the group at large as they slowly cruised down the lane of parked cars.

“Why would we, we’re an hour early,” Mace sulked. The rest of the group, by unspoken agreement, ignored him.

“Maybe we should just park and wait,” Stannis chipped in. Beric found a spot in the far corner, where they could see anybody who entered the lot. Even better, it was a straight shot to the exit in case things went bad. 

“So what should we talk about?” Beric asked brightly.

“Can I maybe run a couple of apologies to Hoster by you guys,” Ned began.

“NO!” Mace shouted.

“I will get out of this car and wait outside if I have to,” Stannis glared.

“Actually, maybe we don’t need to talk,” Beric demurred.

So the next hour passed in semi-companionable silence. 

And then Robert’s phone rang.

“Fuck! What do I do?!” Ned stared at the unknown caller ID.

“Just answer it,” Stannis huffed.

“But what if he asks why it isn’t Robert? Or what if he wants cash? Fuck, we barely have any cash! Or what if—“

“Knock knock,” said a blond man, tapping his gun against the passenger side window.

“What do I do?!” Ned squeaked.

“Open the door!” Stannis hissed from behind him. As that was also what the fellow with the gun wanted him to do, that seemed like sound strategy.

“All right, out of the car. Let’s have a look at you,” the gunman drawled, waving Ned out. He was wearing a crisp looking white linen suit and had mild gray eyes that made him look rather friendly. This friendliness was somewhat belied by the gun.

“You must be Ned,” the stranger said. “Bobby has told me so much about you!” He clapped Ned into a hug.

“Bobby?” Ned managed, trying to keep an eye on the revolver.

“Bobby B!” The man waved his hand and Ned ducked instinctively.

“Wait is that...” Mace pushed out of the car and stared, blinking.

“Harry Strickland?” Beric also got out of the car, looking more like he was contemplating doing a runner.

“Mace Tyrell! Never forget a face! How the hells are you?” The man slapped Mace amiably on the back.

“What are you doing here?!” Beric spluttered.

“And you. Beric Dondarrion,” this Harry fellow said flatly. Beric gulped.

“Forget that. Who are you?!” Stannis demanded.

Harry frowned.

“Who are you?”

“I asked first! And I am Robert’s brother!”

“... Bobby has a brother?” Harry looked genuinely baffled.

Ned winced. Stannis’ face was going a dark red and he seemed to have lost the power of speech.

“Homeless Harry Strickland,” Beric whispered in Ned’s ear, “is the head of the Golden Company.”

Ned blinked. 

The Golden Company was a criminal syndicate that could trace its roots back to the Middle Ages. They were primarily active in Essos, but they had operations as far east as Yi Ti and as far west as well, Westeros. 

“Alas,” Harry shrugged lackadaisically. “I have been ousted. Homeless Harry again, in more ways than one. I had to leave Myr rather unexpectedly.”

“Ousted?” Mace frowned.

“By a blue-haired cunt who I could cheerfully disembowel with a butter knife,” Harry wrinkled his nose. “I came to Sunspear to pick up a cache I left for a rainy day like this one, and then this morning I remembered that Bobby was in town for his stag!”

“Robert has TWO brothers!” Stannis snapped, having finally found his voice.

“I thought I’d drop by, say hello, wish him all the best, catch up on tricks,” Harry continued, unconcerned. “And that’s when I saw him!”

“Saw who?” Ned scratched his head.

“Jaime Lannister! I recognized him from the engagement party spread in Agora! He was sneaking out of the grounds of the Water Gardens, carrying some kind of package! And he threw it into the river! The whole thing was done in a furtive manner, highly suspicious. And that’s when I remembered.”

“Remembered...?” Beric prompted.

“That he was trying to sabotage the wedding! Robert told me all about it, he was thinking about disappearing him. You and he talked about it remember?” (This last was addressed directly to Ned, and Ned had a slightly sinking feeling that he did possibly remember this. He hoped the trunk was soundproof.) “He clearly followed you down to Dorne and stole something in the middle of the night! At a guess I thought it might be the wedding ring,” Harry continued. “Bobby was very clear that Lannister said to Bobby that the wedding was happening over his dead body. And I thought, what the hell, right? That can be arranged.”

Ned felt the ground spin beneath his feet.

“You didn’t...”

“Of course not!” Harry laughed heartily, and Ned laughed too, a little weak at the knees. “It’s not much of a wedding gift if I get to have all the fun!”

“Hahaha what?” Ned’s chuckling dropped off.

“Oh I thought Bobby would be coming naturally, but you are his best man. Fitting for you to do the honors.”

“The honors?”

Harry smiled and offered his gun to Ned. Ned stared at it stupidly.

“That silver sedan six cars down. Just pop a couple shots through the trunk. The beauty of long term parking is that it’ll be weeks before anyone notices.”

“Jaime Lannister is in the trunk of your car and you want me to shoot him?” Ned said slowly.

“Well it’s not my car of course. That would be crazy,” Harry beamed. 

“Right, crazy,” Ned repeated.

“I got here a couple hours ago and hot wired one with a permit through the end of the summer. It’s always best to arrive to a hostage negotiation early I’ve found. Four hours at the very latest,” Harry tapped his temple and winked.

“Is he always... quite this murder-y?” Ned asked Mace and Beric under his breath.

“Always,” Beric said glumly.

“Harry, this is a lovely gesture,” Ned sighed, trying to think how to get placate the psycho and get Jaime back unharmed. “Robert will be very touched. It’s just... well there seems to have been a miscommunication.”

“A miscommunication?” Harry frowned.

“Jaime realized he was being an idiot and patched things up with Robert. He wasn’t sneaking around the Water Gardens, he was a guest. Robert invited him. And he definitely didn’t steal the ring, see?” Ned produced it. 

Harry considered, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“How embarrassing!” He laughed at length. “Oh well, an honest misunderstanding, right chaps?”

They all laughed nervously.

“I would love to know what he was throwing in the river though. I suppose we can ask him!” Harry chuckled and shook his head, ambling down the row to the aforementioned silver sedan.

Ned trailed after, trying to remember to breathe.

Humming a jaunty little tune, Harry popped the trunk and took a step back. Ned peeked over the edge.

A bound and gagged Jaime Lannister glared back at him, a blazing hatred twisting his face into a scowl. Seeing Ned, his eyes widened.

“MMMMMF! MRG MF MMMM!” Jaime thrashed, looking like he might break free of the trunk through sheer frenzied struggle.

“So,” Harry said tentatively, shutting the trunk again. “Last chance.”

“What?” Ned asked, startled.

“Well he’s clearly very upset. In my experience these things are always a downer at weddings. Still time to just shoot him and call it a day.”

“Ah,” Ned swallowed. “Right. I thank you for the very tempting offer, but I think we’d better let him out.”

“Your funeral,” Harry sighed, looking rather disappointed.

Ned popped the trunk, and with some assistance from the others, managed to wrestle Jaime out. 

“Don’t you have a pocket-knife in your day pack?” Ned asked Stannis, fumbling with the knots that were keeping Jaime’s hands behind his back.

Stannis muttered something about a good day pack being wasted on Lannister, but they had Jaime free in short work.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jaime howled, when they removed the gag.

“I did warn you,” Harry stuck his pinkie in his ear.

“WHO IS THIS NUTJOB AND WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“Jaime, this is Harry Strickland. Harry, this is Jaime Lannister,” Mace introduced them politely.

“Charmed, simply charmed old chap,” Harry tipped his head in acknowledgement.

“You chloroformed me! I AM THE OPPOSITE OF CHARMED!”

“Bit of a mix up, that! We’ll laugh about this in a few months, I’m sure,” Harry patted Jaime on the shoulder. Jaime growled.

“What happened?” Ned asked cautiously, moving between Jaime and the ex-mafia killer. Situations with Jaime had a habit of escalating.

“Before this weirdo with a pocket square mugged me?!” Jaime spat. 

“Uh yes. Harry said he saw you throwing something in a river?”

“Right,” Jaime took a deep breath, still staring daggers over Ned’s shoulder.

“I caught Armory Lorch snooping around the Water Gardens this morning with a camera. He’s one of my father’s guard dogs. Clearly father sent him to tail Robert. And since I don’t have a clue what we got up to last night, I thought it safest to knock him out. I put him in a judo sleeper hold, stole his clothes so he couldn’t go anywhere, then dumped his clothes and his camera in the river. I left him in the trunk of the car, I was texting Stannis when I was VICIOUSLY ASSAULTED!”

“Just to play devil’s advocate,” Harry interjected amiably, “at least I didn’t strip you naked and dump your clothes in a river.”

“AAAAAHHHHH!” Jaime dove for Harry, and it took both Ned and Mace to restrain him.

“Look on the bright side,” Harry said at length. “You have done Robert a great service. You lot can go, get the car, drive it out to a long term parking lot and put an end to all this nonsense.”

Ned, Stannis, Mace and Beric exchanged an uneasy look.

“Where is Robert anyway?” Jaime pinched his nose.

“Oh... we left him and Oberyn and Thoros back at the palace,” Ned said uncertainly.

“And the car?” Jaime looked at him in dawning horror.

“Also at the palace. But we told them not to leave,” Mace said, wringing his hands.

The five of them looked at each other. 

“FUCK!”


	31. Melisandre (Vice and Wish 6 of 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this chapter was hard to write. Usually my writer’s block happens before I actually start—I stare at my phone/laptop but words don’t come out. This time the whole thing felt like squeezing lemons by hand! (Unripe lemons naturally) Hopefully that doesn’t come through, even though I can’t shake the feeling that this is mostly a set up chapter...

It wasn’t that Melisandre hated Cersei per se, although she was fast approaching her very last nerve. It wasn’t that Melisandre hated hen parties—oh wait, she did. She hated them just as much as she hated every stupid asinine forced tradition surrounding weddings, up to and including weddings themselves.

But Lord of Light, if anybody deserved to feel what it was like to lose... 

Lysa Tully would pick Jon Arryn if she had to be dragged kicking and screaming every step of the way. 

It wouldn’t come to that though, Melisandre told herself firmly. Petyr Baelish was a weaselly creep who was using Lysa for her social connections and would absolutely dump her the moment a more advantageous opportunity presented itself. He cheated on her, belittled her, and wouldn’t know love languages if the book hit him in the head. 

Jon Arryn might not be age appropriate, but he was a kind sweet man who seemed to genuinely like Lysa for who she was. As far as Melisandre was concerned, this game was in the bag. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take precautions.

“I think we should all trade phones,” Melisandre said sweetly. “That way nobody can ruin the game by cheating.”

“Such a good idea,” Cersei gave her a patronizing smile. “You can take mine.”

So Cersei and Melisandre swapped and Brienne and Catelyn swapped, and then they put their heads together to craft the appropriate text that Lysa Tully would send to each man.

“Petyr was going to pick me up anyway, so that’ll be easy. I’ll just tell him we’re wrapping up and can he come early. And that it’s our seven year anniversary so he better surprise me,” Lysa added.

“Won’t he know it’s not?” Brienne asked doubtfully. 

Lysa rolled her eyes. 

“Hardly, most years he forgets. What do I say to Jon though? We’ve only been on a few proper dates.”

“If he’s as thoughtful as you think, you probably don’t need to say anything,” Cersei chipped in.

“You’re saying something,” Melisandre interjected, glaring. “It’s not fair to say something to Petyr and not to Jon.”

“How about ‘Having a disaster of a weekend, can you please pick me up? Bonus points if you can think of something to cheer me up.’”

“That’s still not the equivalent of an anniversary,” Melisandre protested. 

“Well if you have an alternative suggestion, I’m all ears,” Cersei arched her eyebrow.

“My ride fell through and everybody’s forgotten it’s my birthday. What a disaster of a weekend, can you please pick me up?” Melisandre recited flatly.

“Ooooh,” Lysa began typing.

“Not bad,” Cersei conceded grudgingly.

“I still think this is silly,” Brienne put in. “An artificial demand that each of these people find you a gift in thirty minutes as they’re driving to pick you up doesn’t tell you anything about them.”

There was a ding of a text.

“Jon’s on his way!” Lysa announced brightly. 

“So he’s a faster responder than Petyr. Interesting,” Melisandre couldn’t help noting.

There was a pause as they stared at Lysa’s cell phone for Petyr’s text. Nothing happened. Maybe she would just win by default? 

“If you’ll excuse me girls, I need to use the ladies’ room,” Cersei reached for her robe.

Melisandre promptly pulled herself out of the hot spring pool as well.

“We can go together,” she said. That was something girls did wasn’t it? She didn’t have many female friends. Regardless, she wasn’t giving Cersei an opportunity to wander off and find a pay phone.

“Of course,” Cersei dipped her head.

“But...” Brienne blurted, glancing at Catelyn, who had not said a word in twenty minutes, and then back at Melisandre.

“She’s fine, aren’t you Catelyn?” Melisandre said soothingly.

“I’m creating a mental flow chart for brunch tomorrow, gaming scenarios that might go wrong, and coming up with back up plans for each,” Catelyn answered absently.

“See? She’s doing... that,” Melisandre waved a hand. “Totally fine.”

She hurried after Cersei, who had not bothered to wait for her.

“Oh there you are!” She feigned enthusiasm, grabbing her arm. “Such a fun weekend, right?!”

“Simply marvelous,” Cersei smiled back, and was it Melisandre’s imagination, or did it look a little strained?

“The ladies’ room is the other way,” Melisandre gently turned her in the right direction.

“So easy to get turned around in these woods,” Cersei shook her head, and Melisandre definitely saw her eye twitch.

Once they were in the bathroom, Cersei cleared her throat.

“You don’t mind waiting outside do you? I have a shy bladder.”

“Take your time, no rush,” Melisandre said cheerfully as she breezed past into the next stall.

She was wondering if they really would be here until Cersei actually had to use the restroom, but fortunately there was the telltale tinkle after not too many minutes.

“You don’t mind if we stop by our suite, do you? I’m sure the girls would prefer some clothes besides these bathrobes,” Cersei suggested.

“Actually that’s a good idea,” Melisandre admitted. Certainly she wanted Lysa dressed to impress.

Under close supervision, Cersei found some outfits for everybody. (One thing Melisandre had to admit—Cersei had good taste in clothing. And like Melisandre, she subscribed to the ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it’ style.)

This momentary charitable impulse toward Cersei dissipated promptly upon returning to the hot springs, where Brienne, Catelyn, and Lysa were still lounging. Well Brienne and Lysa were lounging. Catelyn was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and staring into space.

“Petyr responded! He apologized for the delay, he was busy at the jeweler’s shopping for my anniversary gift,” Lysa beamed.

Melisandre shot a look at Cersei who seemed innocently pleased with the outcome.

“That’s clearly a lie, because it’s not actually your anniversary,” Melisandre pointed out rather testily. Something was clearly fishy. Somehow Cersei had forewarned him. 

“An important attribute in any partner is a willingness to blindly agree with you,” Cersei countered.

“Well it certainly explains your choices,” Melisandre muttered under her breath.

“I didn’t catch that?”

“Just something in my throat,” Melisandre growled.

“Okay, Jon’s getting here at three. I’ll greet him, then ask him to bring the car around. Petyr will get here at 3:30. So we’ll be done with the first test by four,” Lysa said happily.

“Excellent,” Cersei nodded. “For quality time, you can tell Jon that you’ve changed your mind and want to do a walking tour of the forest before you leave. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to Petyr about outstanding wedding issues—“ 

“Which Brienne will be present for,” Melisandre added.

“—and then you can tell Jon you need to pack and we’ll keep him occupied while you tell Petyr you want to take a boat out on the lake before you go,” Cersei finished.

“What about acts of service?” Lysa asked, hanging on to Cersei’s every word.

“That’s just a tie-breaker. I don’t really think it’ll come to that,” Cersei said airily.

Melisandre glowered. Thought she had it in the bag did she?

The next hour was a flurry of changing, scoping out the best places to meet Jon Arryn and Petyr, and fussing over Lysa. They brushed her dark auburn hair until it positively shone, and Cersei worked some makeup magic that made her normally pale blue eyes glow. 

“Don’t seem too impressed with either of them. Make them work for it,” Cersei lectured her. 

“I don’t think you should be unkind,” Brienne frowned.

“Just be confident,” Melisandre assured her.

Catelyn only sighed and came out of her shell enough to hug her little sister.

“Either one would be so lucky,” she told Lysa. “But this is silly and if you’re upset with Petyr, you should really talk to him instead of playing him against your high school Lit teacher in some kind of secret game show.”

Poor thing was just so undone by the Ned situation. 

“Do you want to know who to invite to brunch tomorrow or not?” Cersei pressed, and Lysa slipped from Catelyn’s hug, eyes wide.

Jon Arryn arrived ten minutes early in his sensible sedan. A little beaten up, but it got good gas mileage and as far as Melisandre could tell when it was her turn with the binoculars, very clean inside. 

“Why do you have these?” Brienne asked Cersei when Melisandre handed them over for her turn.

“A lady should always have a pair of good binoculars in her purse,” Cersei said absently, as she adjusted the focus. “He kissed her on the cheek. What’s she saying? Is she pointing at us?!”

Catelyn turned up the volume on her cell phone, which was in minute five of a telephone call to Lysa, who had her phone on speaker in her pocket to catch conversation.

“Our suite was up there, it had the most marvelous balconies,” Lysa was saying. The girls, huddled on their balcony, crouched lower.

“Well I’m glad you were able to enjoy something—I was so surprised to hear about everyone forgetting your birthday, that doesn’t seem like Catelyn at all!” Jon Arryn put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“Oh, ha, she’s just been so caught up in the drama with Ned and Daddy,” Lysa covered quickly.

“But the other three? You can’t tell me Cersei doesn’t have a master spreadsheet of every friend’s birthday and an automated text program to send out personalized well wishes,” Jon Arryn laughed.

“I do have that,” Cersei mentioned to the other three.

“Well... I just really keep my birthday under wraps! I don’t like to make a fuss,” Lysa twisted for a second. “Why, I bet you didn’t even know it was my birthday!”

Oh well played.

“You caught me,” Jon admitted. “I’m so sorry, I would have planned something more elaborate if I’d known in advance.”

“I guess you didn’t get me anything then?” Lysa bit her lip. Melisandre realized she was biting her own as well. Cersei looked smug.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Jon Arryn said, a little mischievously. He reached into the car and pulled out a small wrapped package.

“I bought this in the Summer Islands, I keep waiting for the right moment to give it to you. At first I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, if you felt what I felt, and then the last two weeks have been such a whirlwind...” Jon Arryn was blabbering on a bit, but Melisandre could tell he was nervous. It was cute!

Lysa opened the package, and under the pretext of holding it to the light, turned the box towards the girls on the balcony.

It was a hair pin in the shape of a dragonfly, the wings a shimmering iridescent that had to be turquoise.

“Oh it’s beautiful!” Lysa exclaimed, her finger gently tracing the delicate craftsmanship.

“It was the blue I noticed at first, because it reminded me of your eyes,” Jon Arryn was saying. “But then I realized it was in the shape of a dragonfly and how appropriate that was.”

“A dragonfly?”

“You’re my princess of dragonflies, like the old legend. The beautiful sweet and mysterious girl who showed up and bewitched the Targaryen prince. And he ran away with her and left everything behind,” Jon said shyly. “I thought at forty-five, I knew the arc my life was taking. Rowena and I never could have children, but we built our own kind of family, and after she died, I never felt the need to go out and try again. Put myself through the whole rigamarole of dating. I was happy with what I had. My friends, my hobbies, my job. And then you showed up and everything changed.”

Lord of Light, Melisandre had had no idea. She had liked him as a teacher sure, but she’d found him overly attached to the old Westerosi canon of Great Works. In Great Works, the women were always in distress, which Melisandre had found rather tiresome and dull. But clearly he was just an old-fashioned romantic, lonely and pining for some girl to sweep off her feet. It was adorable!

“Lysa would be lucky to resell that for a couple hundred dragons on the secondhand market,” Cersei sniffed. 

“Would you do me the honor of letting me pin it in your hair?” Jon Arryn asked. And Lysa giggled and nodded, and as he fastened it, the light caught the turquoise and in that moment, Lysa, who Melisandre had always thought of as a poor man’s version of her prettier smarter more vivacious sister, fairly sparkled.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow at Cersei. Cersei rolled her eyes.

“Where is Petyr, anyway, he should be due shortly,” Cersei groused. “Do I have your permission to use your phone to make sure he knows where to pick Lysa up? You will of course be able to read the texts.”

Petyr, it turned out, had gone to the hotel side and not the spa side, so Cersei walked around to meet him, Melisandre stoically following after.

“Petyr darling!” Cersei swept the weedy fellow into a hug. He was wearing a suit, which was inherently suspicious.

“Is Lysa ready?” Petyr asked. He gave a slick smile. “It’s our anniversary after all.”

Melisandre tried her best not to scowl. If anything this was proof that she had backed the right horse.

“Lysa’s actually over this way,” she said, and escorted him around the back, even as a surreptitious glance at her phone confirmed that Brienne and Catelyn were taking Jon Arryn around the front.

“Babe!” Petyr broke into a light jog when he saw Lysa, sweeping her up and spinning her before he set her down again with a lingering kiss. Melisandre personally thought it was a little tacky to grab your girlfriend’s ass in public, but Lysa just laughed.

“I’ve been missing you,” Petyr brushed a strand of hair out of her face, frowning briefly as he noted the hair clip.

“But you haven’t been responding to any of my texts all weekend,” Lysa pouted.

“Work. No rest for the wicked I’m afraid,” Petyr sighed. “But I brought something to make up for it!”

“Oh?” Lysa tilted her head, curiosity sparked.

“Close your eyes,” Petyr smirked. Lysa’s lashes obediently fluttered shut.

He pulled two large emerald pendant earrings from his pocket, carefully clipping each one to her ears.

Melisandre goggled. They were huge! There was no way that Petyr Baelish, a fellow scholarship kid from Prep, had managed to afford those. Even if Cersei had warned him, there was JUST. NO. WAY.

“Open,” Petyr commanded, and Lysa opened her eyes. 

“Earrings?? They’re heavy, let me see!”

“Of course, smile—“ Petyr pulled her into a one armed hug and took a selfie of the two of them. “What do you think?”

“Gods,” Lysa breathed. “They’re absolutely gorgeous!! How on earth did you afford them?!”

“Selling some photos. That’s what’s kept me busy all weekend sweetling,” Petyr have her a saccharine smile. “They match your eyes.”

Melisandre ground her teeth. Lysa’s eyes were blue! 

“They look just like the earrings that Cersei wore in her interview in Yes! last month,” Lysa beamed, looking at Cersei for approval. “Don’t they just?”

“Not exactly,” Cersei laughed as Melisandre slowly turned toward her with an icy glare. “Mine were actually the pair worn by the famous Lysene actress Johanna Swann in The Stepstones Saga. They are one of a kind and I really wouldn’t part from them for any extended period of time.” This last part was said with slightly narrowed eyes at Petyr.

“Of course, mine were designed by a jeweler who specializes in reproduction. Give him a week’s time, and almost nobody would notice the difference,” Petyr nodded back at Cersei. Was Melisandre seriously the only person picking this up?! She turned around for Brienne and Catelyn’s acknowledgement, only to remember that they were last seen escorting Jon Arryn in the opposite direction.

“Petyr, can you give us a minute?” Melisandre tilted her head. “We need to speak briefly with Lysa and then I believe Cersei had some wedding issues she wanted to go over with you.”

“Of course ladies,” Petyr gave a bow that had Lysa tittering and Melisandre rolling her eyes.

“I think Petyr wins this round,” Lysa said as soon as he was out of earshot, touching the earrings dreamily. “I’ve never gotten a gift this nice.”

“Jon Arryn’s gift was thoughtful and sweet and he actually knows what color your eyes are,” Melisandre growled. “Petyr obviously regifted some of Cersei’s earrings.”

“How on earth would he have done that?” Cersei smiled at her bemusedly. “You’ve been with me the entire time.”

“I. DON’T. KNOW,” Melisandre bit out.

“Poor dear just doesn’t like losing,” Cersei said in a stage whisper to Lysa who pulled a sympathetic face. Melisandre seethed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to take a walk and clear my head,” Melisandre said tightly.

“I thought you wanted to be present for any discussions I had with Petyr,” Cersei replied coyly.

“Clearly you have already managed to convey everything you need to,” Melisandre said haughtily, and swept out. 

So Cersei wanted to play it like this did she? Melisandre absently began walking toward the boathouse on the edge of the lake. Cersei wasn’t the only person who knew a little something about ruining people’s day.

An hour later, Melisandre finished washing the engine grease off her hands and found Brienne and Catelyn in the library of the hotel listening to Catelyn’s phone.

“Oh look at all the funny faces these trees have!” Lysa was saying tinnily from the speaker.

“These carvings are said to pre-date the arrival of Andals in Westeros. The First Men worshipped the weirwoods as gods,” Jon explained. “This is one of the best preserved historical sites in the country and I’ve always wanted to visit. Look at you Lysa, making my dreams come true.”

“So it sounds like it’s going well?” Melisandre asked.

“He’s such a dear. I would have never guessed from senior lit, that class could be so boring!” Brienne admitted.

“What if the reason Ned isn’t responding to my texts is because he’s not coming?” Catelyn suddenly asked. “Like this whole time I’ve been planning out doomsday brunch scenarios, I’ve forgotten the most obvious problem. What will I do if he’s decided to hell with my family and to hell with m-me?!”

“You know that Ned worships the ground you walk on,” Brienne said immediately. “He would never do anything to hurt you. You have a family together! His phone battery is just dead, you’ll see.”

“That’s right,” Melisandre agreed. Granted she hadn’t been spending all summer with him like Brienne had, but from Stannis’ occasional off-hand comments, Ned seemed like one of the good ones. “There is such thing as overthinking a problem, you know? Distract yourself,” she eyed the cell phone meaningfully.

“You’re right, I know you’re right,” Catelyn massaged her temples. “And I know the two of you don’t think much of Petyr, but we grew up together. And at least he’s Lysa’s AGE! I’m not saying I love the way he treats her, but she also has literally never confronted him about anything. I just think sitting down and having a conversation about her expectations in a relationship is the healthier option here.”

Melisandre shifted uncomfortably. Gods, when did Catelyn Tully become such an adult?! Was this because she was a mom?

“Look, it’s all in good fun,” she finally allowed grudgingly. “The prize is an invitation to brunch, not Lysa’s hand in marriage.”

“You guys, they’re heading back now,” Brienne warned, still listening to the phone conversation. “We should make sure Petyr is ready to take Lysa out on the lake.”

“Say Lysa can swim right?” Melisandre asked casually.

“Like a fish,” Catelyn smiled fondly.

“How about Petyr?”

“Um not super great as I can recall.”

“Excellent,” Melisandre smiled.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason at all.”


	32. Thoros (Vice and Wish 7 of 12)

“How am I supposed to have sex in this?!” Oberyn complained, flapping the sling that his arm had been wrapped in. He looked like an angry albeit lopsided bird, and Thoros concealed his smile by pulling a face at the baby currently in Robert’s arms.

“Agug,” the baby giggled. Thoros’ sentiments exactly.

“Doggie style or her on top, I would think,” Robert pondered. “Or if you were lying on your left side, and she was doing the work. Reverse cowgirl. Wheelbarrow. Dornish Lotus. Put her on a table and—“

“Okay,” Thoros interjected, because the last thing he wanted to do was get stuck in a conversation where Robert and Oberyn swapped sex positions. They had somewhere to be in two hours. “Did you go through the printout the doctor gave you?”

“Two fractured ribs and a broken arm,” Oberyn sighed. “Here, you can read the fine print.” He shoved the papers at Thoros. “How do you figure a Dornish Lotus?” He turned back to Robert.

Thoros rolled his eyes and looked at the pages. The doctor had given Oberyn some pain medication, and a prescription for some more. There were notes here on follow up visits, a toxicology report, medical hist—hold the phone.

“You were roofied!” Thoros blurted.

“Come again?” Oberyn frowned.

“It’s here in your toxicology report! Rohypnol!”

“Wait, does this mean THAT’S why none of us can remember anything?” Robert frowned. “I assumed Oberyn brought back his hangover cure.”

“I never could remember the exact proportions,” Oberyn shook his head sadly. 

“Ugh this is way creepier. Who would want to roofie us?! I mean, probably a lot of women actually. Who would want to roofie Thoros?!”

“Everybody got roofied, not just the three of us,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Oooh so you think it was one of Beric’s groupies? Like if we were ordering pitchers at dinner or something, and they just dosed the whole thing?” Robert grinned.

“No I don’t think that!” Thoros spluttered. Well he HADN’T anyway. Thanks Robert.

“Look, we should get going if we’re going to get Arthur’s ring back before our meeting,” Oberyn pointed out. “Let’s put a pin in this mystery.”

“Along with the naked man,” Thoros sighed.

“Awuhah,” said the baby.

“Right, don’t forget the direwolf,” Robert patted the baby on the head.

The good news was that the ring was still there. The bad news was that the proprietor wasn’t giving it up for less than thirty-five thousand dragons. 

“Fuck, Stannis froze all my cards,” Robert winced, as an unamused Dornishman tried a fourth credit card unsuccessfully.

“It might be all of us,” Oberyn frowned, standing at an ATM. “Thoros, you try.”

Thoros’ card was not rejected by the ATM.

“Sweet, two hundred seventeen thousand. Use your debit card and I’ll pay you back,” Robert said, peering over his shoulder.

“That doesn’t say two hundred seventeen thousand,” Oberyn squinted. “It says two hundred and seventeen cents.”

“Wow you must contribute a lot to your retirement account,” Robert blinked.

“Let’s go with that,” Thoros sighed and shoved his card back in his wallet.

“No money, no ring,” the proprietor glared at them.

“What if we could get you a different ring?” Oberyn asked.

“Eh?” The proprietor considered. “A better ring?”

“Yes, a better ring,” Oberyn assured him.

“Wait...” Robert began.

“Would depend on ring. But yes, I’d trade.”

“I don’t really like this idea—“

“Then sir, I suggest you keep this ring out of sight. Because I have a far better alternative for you,” Oberyn grinned. “Remember to get it from Ned,” he told Robert.

“Look, Martell, I might be scared of Arthur Dayne but I’m terrified of Cersei. I am absolutely not trading my engagement ring for his,” Robert glared.

“You’re not losing it. C’mon, you’re a millionaire. We’ll swap rings and figure out how to get some funds unfrozen.”

“Ugh fine,” Robert huffed.

“So the shadow of the Tower of the Sun, yeah?” Thoros checked his watch.

“Maybe Jaime has money!” Robert brightened.

“Onward!” Thoros jabbed his sword. Half the fun of having a sword, he’d discovered, was making epic gestures. The other half would be making a fire sword if SOMEONE wasn’t such a buzz kill.

“Sir, I might be willing to trade that sword for the ring,” the proprietor suddenly interjected.

“Hardly necessary,” Oberyn waved him off. Thoros frowned. Odd. While he would obviously prefer to keep this awesome sword he’d plucked from the ice bucket like Excalibur, he would have thought Oberyn would jump at the opportunity.

“How come?” He asked.

“Yeah wait, why not?” Robert scratched his head.

“Well we’re going to negotiate the return of a hostage right? ONE of us should be armed, don’t you think?” Oberyn said.

Okay, he was clearly lying. This was the dumbest thing Thoros had ever—

“Great idea! Here, Thoros, let’s trade,” Robert shoved the baby into his arms.

And thus Excalibur was lost.

At two pm the shadow cast by the tower of the spear was small indeed. Thoros, who had been skeptical of this as a meeting place (he considered himself something of an expert, as the only one of the three who had been present for the last ill-fated exchange in Myr), was prepared to concede it had merits. Lots of people though. Witnesses, which was a good thing if they were worried about getting stabbed. A bad thing if Robert planned to be doing the stabbing.

A man was already waiting for them, perhaps early forties, black bearded and swarthy. He stood about Oberyn and Thoros’ height, lean and scowling.

“Oh shit,” Oberyn breathed. “That’s Edgar Yronwood.”

“Who?” Robert scratched his head.

“The Yronwoods are like the second family in Dorne after the Martells. This guy is super loaded, it can’t be about money. He literally has an enormous basement treasure room filled with priceless artifacts,” Oberyn muttered under his breath. “It’s supposed to be nearly as good as my parents’,” he added smugly.

“Martell,” Yronwood hissed, stiffening as he spotted them. “I’m surprised you even have the nerve to show your face in person after what you’ve done.”

Thoros was having flashbacks to Arthur Dayne. Why did everybody have to be so friggin’ vague?!

“Whatever it was, I’m sure you deserved it,” Oberyn said flippantly. 

“Whatever it was?!” Yronwood spluttered. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t remember!”

“Hang on, I got this one!” Robert shouted, gesturing with the sword. Thoros looked sadly down at the baby. Nobody ever gestured with a baby. “Oberyn crashed your private room at the strip club! Dayne said it earlier, remember? Say, I don’t suppose you could describe to us in highly specific and measured detail the proportions of our time there?” Robert turned to Yronwood hopefully. The man looked nonplussed.

“Wait, this is about depriving you of a happy ending?!” Oberyn laughed. “Are you serious?!”

Thoros did not consider himself heavily invested in Jaime Lannister’s personal safety, but he wondered if blatant antagonism was really the appropriate route here.

“Yes! It is about depriving me of a happy ending!” Yronwood roared, loud enough that several passersby gave them strange looks. 

“Just go back tonight, jeez,” Robert muttered under his breath.

“You took photos of me having sex with a prostitute and sent them to my fiancé!” Yronwood jabbed at Oberyn.

Oh dear.

“She’s broken the engagement! My life is in shambles!”

Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“You’ve stolen the greatest love I will ever know!” 

At this Oberyn’s eyebrows knitted slightly. 

“Are you saying...” he cleared his throat, “that Captain Sara is single?”

Were it possible to spontaneously combust, Thoros would have run for cover. Yronwood was glaring at Oberyn with deep loathing, fists balled and clenched at his sides.

“This is exactly how I thought someone of your... ilk would respond.”

“My ilk?” Oberyn still sounded amused.

“A bisexual butterfly of a dilettante, shaming your family’s traditions, leaving bastard children everywhere you go, no sense of duty or honor or...”

“No need to get personal,” Robert said mildly.

“I want a duel,” Yronwood said flatly.

“A duel?” Thoros blurted, forgetting he wasn’t really part of this conversation. But still, seriously?! And Westerosis thought people from Essos were crazy.

“As my red-headed friend says, come again?” Oberyn tilted his head.

“I knew you would react like this,” Yronwood crossed his arms. Thoros wondered if he realized MOST people would react like this. 

“It is high time you learned the value of honor. And anticipating your reaction, I took the liberty of insuring your participation. I have abducted your paramour!” 

He announced the last dramatically, clearly expecting it to land like a bombshell. 

There was a stifled pause, heavy with the anticipation of who was going to break first. Thoros put his hand to his mouth to try and hold in the guffaw.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA,” Robert finally broke with a belly laugh that could be heard across the plaza. Thoros finally let slip his own laughter which had been shaking him in silent paroxysms of mirth. 

Oberyn only smirked at Yronwood.

“He is pretty, I’ll give you that. But no, I do not know Lannister on those terms.”

Yronwood looked confused, both nonplussed by the less than intimidated reaction from the group and Oberyn’s response in particular.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was waiting outside the Water Gardens this morning to confront you about your despicable and cowardly behavior, when I saw a young woman in a septa’s habit emerging. She had a furtive air, as I imagine so many young women who awaken to find themselves in your bed. I trailed her for a block or two, and then had my chauffeur escort her to my estate.”

They all blinked at him.

“A septa’s habit?” Oberyn said slowly.

“Yes, thought some of the language that came out of her mouth was certainly not learned in a sept.”

“Was her name Lyene?” Oberyn growled.

“That sounds correct,” Yronwood sneered disdainfully. “I can only imagine what Sara would say if she knew that even as you were trying to lure her into your arms, you were debauching a septa. I thank the gods that Doran was born first. I imagine your parents and their shareholders do as well.”

“So let me get this straight. You are holding a septa, the mother of my child, I might add, hostage until I agree to DUEL you?!” Oberyn said quietly. 

“Yes. Pistols or swords, your choice. In light of your youth and my long-standing friendship with your family, I shall agree to first blood,” Yronwood replied. How magnanimous of him.

Oberyn was grinding his teeth.

“I can’t,” he said finally.

“This craven behavior will not stand. You will take your lumps or this so called septa will be my permanent—“

“No you blithering idiot,” Oberyn snapped. “Has it honestly escaped your attention that my arm is in a sling?! It’s broken you twat.”

“We have a doctor’s note,” Thoros said helpfully, shifting the baby so he could dig through his pocket.

“Fuck your doctor’s note,” Yronwood snarled. Rude. “I demand satisfaction!”

Oberyn rocked on the balls of his feet, clearly trying to resist the urge to leap forward and beat Yronwood about the head with his cast. 

“I have a proposal,” Oberyn said at length.

“Make it good,” Yronwood said.

“My friend Robert here will be my champion.”

“I will?”

“As you can see, he’s a reasonably adept swordsman.”

“I am?”

“The only caveat is, as you may be aware, he has a heavily publicized wedding next weekend. So he really can’t be seen engaging in this sort of thing.”

“I can’t?”

“So we will meet you tonight at midnight on the beach. Bring Lyene and wear a baclava or something similar to conceal your features and Robert shall do the same. You shall have your duel, and I shall have my septa. Are we agreed?”

Thoros had no idea what game Oberyn was playing, but at least he wasn’t the only one.

“You are missing a key element,” Yronwood interjected. “That my primary motivation in dueling you is the opportunity to beat you silly.”

Oberyn arched an eyebrow that indicated he held that possibility to be remote indeed.

“Very well,” he said after a beat. “Let’s say we sweeten the pot. Do you see that sword my friend is carrying?”

Yronwood tilted his head, interest piqued.

“A priceless artificial that quite recently came into the Martell family collection. Would you care to examine it?”

The man walked over to Robert and tried to take it. There was a brief tug of war, before he realized he would have to content himself with inspecting it while it remained in Robert’s grip.

“Is this...” Yronwood suddenly looked up.

“It is,” Oberyn said silkily. Thoros wished someone would just explain what was going on.

“Why this is one of a kind,” Yronwood said, and for the first time since their conversation began, he sounded almost... excited?

“Why if the owner of the second greatest treasure hoard in Dorne came into possession of such an artifact...”

“They would undoubtedly be the owner of the second greatest treasure hoard no longer,” Yronwood finished.

“The deal is simple. If my champion loses, you get the sword.”

Yronwood eyed Robert, who was nonchalantly holding it like a baseball bat.

“You surprise me Martell. Midnight on the beach was it?”

“Let’s say the Orphan’s Cove. Don’t forget your baclava,” Oberyn tipped his head. 

Yronwood scoffed and walked away.

“Give me my son,” Oberyn turned on Thoros.

“Oh now he’s your son,” Thoros rolled his eyes, but handed the baby over. He didn’t actually like babies that much. If he had to be responsible for a child, he would prefer it clock in at the eight to twelve age range.

“Gentlemen, I present Tyene Sand,” Oberyn beamed.

“That’s a girl’s name, dude,” Robert pointed out.

“Super girly,” Thoros agreed. “Kid’s going to get bullied.”

“I do not disagree. Lyene has her eccentricities. As any sexually deviant septa does, I suppose. I will be legally changing it to Daemon as soon as time permits.”

“So did you just volunteer Robert for a duel with like swords and stuff?” Thoros brought them back to their more immediate problems. Because yeah Robert was pretty much an unstoppable fighting machine, but didn’t sword fights have rules? He was pretty sure Robert hadn’t been getting up on Saturday mornings to put on a mask and learn en pointe or whatever. 

“Also did that guy say this was a priceless historical artifact?” Robert said, using the blade to scrap some mud off his shoe.

“I did. Because it is,” Oberyn said, matter of factly. “Yronwood is famous for having a massive underground treasure chamber. Think Indiana Jones. He would have immediately recognized that as the Dayne family’s ancestral blade, Dawn. Allegedly it was forged from a meteorite more than fifteen hundred years ago.”

“Dayne? Like Arthur Dayne?” 

“Yes, I can’t imagine how it came to be in our possession. But that brings me to my next point. We need to return it. Immediately.”

“We can’t return it! You just bet the damned thing!” Robert said incredulously.

“Right. But you won’t actually be fighting him. No offense Robert, but have you ever even held a sword until today?”

“Nope.”

“Right, you don’t have a shot at winning. Yronwood is an accomplished duelist, he’s been doing this for decades.”

“He’s been challenging random people who flirt with his fiancé to duels for decades?” Thoros scratched his head. Dorne was so weird. And he had lived in Ibben.

“So here’s the plan. We’ll tell Arthur that in exchange for getting his wedding ring back, he has to be my champion in the duel.”

“But there’s no way Yronwood would voluntarily fight the current gold medal holder,” Robert pointed out.

“Right, but he thinks he’s fighting you. At midnight? Wearing a mask? You and Dayne are about the same height and build. I’m betting he thinks it’s you,” Oberyn shrugged. 

Robert and Thoros looked at each other. Well it wasn’t the worst idea? 

“But he’ll definitely want to use Dawn. So once we swap the rings, we’ll need to call Arthur to come and pick it up and then use the time that he’s away from Starfall to put the sword back,” Oberyn said.

“How are we going to get in to Starfall?” Thoros ventured.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Oberyn admitted.

“Wait a minute,” Robert frowned. “If Yronwood had your septa, does that mean the other guys found Jaime?”

“Only one way to find out,” Thoros said, feeling cheerful. All things considered, this was much better than their first go round. After all, they had a plan! One that didn’t require him to transport a wild animal anywhere!

His good mood lasted until approximately two steps into their quarters in the Water Gardens. Because that’s when he saw Homeless Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company, homeless in the sense that he was very much a fugitive in like fifteen different countries, sitting on their couch with a mimosa.

“Bobby!!! D’you know you have a direwolf in there? Bloody thing nearly took my fingers off!” Harry Strickland waved cheerfully, as if it were completely normal that he would be hanging out in their private suite and not watching a body slowly disintegrate into acid or whatever organized crime leaders did in their spare time. 

Thoros dropped back uneasily, aware that he was really not this guy’s favorite person. How had this even happened? He couldn’t still be mad about the elephant thing right? But then why was he here?

“HARRY!!! You got my text!” Robert bounced across the room and scooped up the man into a bear hug.

Oh. That was why.

“Marriage?! Bobby I still can’t believe it,” Harry tsked jokingly.

“None of us can,” Oberyn chipped in, a trifle grumpily. 

“She must be one of a kind,” Harry dusted himself off as Robert set him down.

“Which is for the best,” Oberyn assured him.

“Oby, it’s been ages! So nice to see you again,” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“And this is Thoros, I don’t think you’ve met,” Robert waved to him, making introductions. Was it Thoros’ imagination, or did Harry Strickland narrow his eyes ever so slightly?

“ROBERT!” Ned suddenly barreled in. “Where have you been?! We’ve been combing the palace for you! Guys, they’re back in the suite!” Ned called over his shoulder.

“I thought you were specifically instructed to stay put,” Stannis put in sourly as he entered.

“Jaime! You’re okay!” Robert beamed as Jaime and Beric came in. And he did appear to be fine. 

“Where is the car,” Jaime grabbed Robert’s shoulders and shook. Experience had taught Thoros that was not the best way to get answers from Robert as he found sustained thought difficult even under ideal conditions. 

“Woah, what happened to your arm?” Mace puffed to Oberyn as he finally caught up.

“Believe it or not, I was attacked by a naked crowbar wielding maniac who leapt out of the trunk of the Dragon,” Oberyn shook his head, as if sharing one of the mundane inconveniences of ordinary life on par with traffic jams or being caught in the rain.

“Fuck,” Jaime dropped Robert.

“You all seem rather unsurprised,” Thoros said slowly. Even Beric looked unsurprised! What was the point of having a bizarre adventure full of duels and naked assailants if nobody acted impressed afterward?

“That was Armory Lorch,” Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. “He works for my father. I saw him this morning outside of the Water Gardens taking photos of something. I can’t think what he saw, but you can bet it’s getting back to Tywin if we don’t find him and fast.”

“Ah,” Oberyn scratched the back of his head. “I might have some ideas about that.”

“Oh?” Stannis growled.

“Well you know how Lyene, the septa I knocked up, was here last night dropping off Tyene?”

“Who’s Tyene?”

“Tyene!” Oberyn lifted the baby.

“That’s a girl’s name,” Mace said helpfully.

“Ugh I know, look I’ll take care of it at some point, but what I’m trying to say is that we have it on good authority that a septa was seen sneaking out of the Water Gardens very early this morning.”

“And she was in Robert and Ned’s bedroom,” Beric suddenly said slowly. “That’s where the baby was.”

“Right. So if someone had somehow gotten photos of her in Robert’s bedroom and leaving the next morning...”

“Then Tywin Lannister would hypothetically be very interested,” Jaime finished grimly.


	33. Mace (Vice and Wish 8 of 12)

“I told you to stay out of trouble!!!” Ned groaned.

“But we got a text! We thought we were going to save Jaime from being kidnapped!” Robert protested. “Because we’re family,” he tried to pull Jaime into a hug.

“You tried to DISAPPEAR ME!” Jaime fought him off.

“Uh I didn’t,” Robert said. “That was a misunderstanding!”

“Complete misunderstanding, these things happen constantly in my line of work,” Harry nodded emphatically.

“Maybe that’s why you lost your job!” Jaime growled at Harry. “And no Robert, you didn’t try to disappear me, you just forgot to tell your psychotic friend not to!”

“Which is better,” Robert pointed out.

“Shut up!” Jaime snapped. “The only person I’m currently angrier at is Ned!”

“Wait what?!” Ned blurted.

“I heard what Harry said! Robert told you about this stupid plan AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!”

“Oh um,” Ned’s shoulders hunched. “In my defense...”

“WHAT?!”

“... I was really drunk?” Ned offered hopefully.

Mace stepped out of the way as Jaime dove at him, and then stepped the other way to allow Stannis to get by to separate them. 

“So Allyria said that Oberyn bet us five hundred dragons we couldn’t steal that sword!” Beric was saying to Thoros.

“And now Oberyn has this plan to have Arthur Dayne duel Edgar Yronwood at midnight to save the septa he’s been boinking!” Robert was telling Harry.

Mace took a deep breath, and felt a wave of tranquility washing over him. Yes, his lower back itched terribly. And yes, his mother would probably find a way to work this into her dying words. But as the craziness spun out around him, he savored the chaos, the unpredictability, the... excitement!

At some point, his life had gone... askew. It’s not that he didn’t love Alerie and Loras. Gods, sometimes Loras looked at him with his adorable brown ringlets that were growing absurdly long—the boy refused to let anybody near him with scissors—and Mace felt like there was nothing in the world that could matter when compared to this. 

But there were also other times when he politely listening to his department heads, knowing if he didn’t do what they wanted that they would over his head to his mother, that he remembered that he’d taken a job he’d hated under the thumb of his mother because he had to make money to support a family that he’d accidentally created when he was twenty. 

At an age when most of his peers were drinking and smoking and having bar fights and hookups and FUN, he had been worrying about why Loras wasn’t walking when other kids were walking and still didn’t have his pincer grip down.

It wasn’t fair! Mace didn’t deserve a life of premature adulthood! Maybe somebody like Ned deserved this, he was exactly the type who was happiest cuddled up with a wife next to a wood burning fire with a few rugrats underfoot. But Mace wasn’t like that! He’d been the chubby boy at the popular table, pompous and a little awkward, all through high school. College was supposed to be different. Oberyn Martell, only the coolest guy in their year, somebody he’d basically been friends with only by proximity, had inexplicably decided that they were going to Sunspear together and be roommates. 

Maybe there had been a touch of pity to the offer of friendship, but Mace hadn’t cared. His mother had expected him to attend Highgarden. Sunspear, to room with a Martell, of all people... it was not according to her plan but also proof that he was quite capable of fending for himself.

And those first two years had been magical! They had rushed the Second Sons fraternity, they’d had girls and booze and plenty of drugs. And then he’d met Alerie. She was from their sister sorority, she was cute and bubbly and her tits bounced when she laughed. Mace had been in love. Then there was the pregnancy, and then his mother had said of course he would get married, a Tyrell couldn’t possibly have a child out of wedlock, so he’d proposed and Alerie had said yes and four years later, here they were.

This bachelor party was his mini do over. His chance to do his twenties right. Make mistakes, have adventures, live life as it was meant to be lived. And, unfortunate tattoo aside, it really seemed like things were working out. Though fuck, was it supposed to itch like that?

“Mace, we need to talk,” Oberyn suddenly appeared at his side.

“Okay, great. Do you think it’s supposed to itch this much? What if it’s infected?” Mace pulled his shirt up.

“Mace Tyrell, I am not talking about your tattoo,” Oberyn glared at him.

“Oh?” Mace hastily pulled the shirt back down. “What’s wrong?”

“I know it was you,” Oberyn said quietly.

“You know what was me?” Mace pasted his most innocent expression on his face. Oberyn arched an eyebrow, showing that the expression was about as effective on him as it was on his mother.

“I know you roofied us,” Oberyn hissed under his breath.

Mace looked around nervously to make sure nobody else had heard.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, swallowing.

“Mace, why would you do this?” Oberyn’s brows knitted. “Don’t you remember Myr? Don’t you remember the hit men? The underground boxing ring? The PRISON?!”

“Yes, I remember!” Mace whispered back, equally heatedly. “We were crazy! We were kids! It was the first time I can remember actually having fun!”

“So you admit it!” Oberyn drew back.

“It’s not like I wanted to use rohypnol, but I couldn’t recreate your hangover cure! I spent weeks on it!” Mace exclaimed. “Look you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you have to understand. If anything it was like a tribute to you!!”

“How is roofying all of us a tribute to me?!” Oberyn shouted.

Mace started to shout back and then realized everybody was staring at them.

“He’s joking,” Mace laughed weakly.

“Oh gods,” Ned stared.

“It was those fucking shots!” Jaime exclaimed.

“You just don’t understand...”

“Wait, you’re why we STILL don’t know why there’s a direwolf in that room?!” Beric scowled.

“Weird dude,” Robert frowned.

“NONE OF YOU UNDERSTAND!” Mace yelled. “I AM SUPPOSED TO BE A KID! Not being four fifths of the way to a midlife crisis! I hate my job, I’ve missed vital life experiences and everything has gone terribly wrong!”

There was a long pause. Mace wondered if there wasn’t just a tinge of judgement in those stares.

“Okay,” Harry Strickland said finally. “As the oldest person here by at least ten years, I think I can say that you've got the wrong end of the stick here. I spent my twenties traveling the world. Did I sleep with super models and actresses and occasionally royalty? Of course. Did I have exciting death-defying adventures? Obviously. Was my life a constant whirlpool of hedonistic self-gratification? It was. And yeah, it was really great. But then some blue haired asshole WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS gets financially backed by your enemies to orchestrate an internal coup and next thing you know you’re escaping down the streets of Myr on elephant in the dead of night.”

Mace blinked. He wasn’t sure he totally understood the point of this story. Seeing his confusion, Harry sighed.

“Look, jobs, even amazingly awesome dream jobs, come and go. All the things you’ve thought you’ve missed? They’re pretty ephemeral. You’ve been building a life for yourself, a family. That’s what’s going to be around ten, twenty years from now. So I get why you feel like you’re floundering, but the grass is always greener on the other side. From where I’m sitting, at thirty-six with no family and no job and ninety-five percent of my assets frozen by some bullshit international justice agency and I’m just trying to hit up some caches so I can survive the fucking hit my replacement put on me... well your life doesn’t sound so bad,” Harry poked him.

“That was really deep,” Robert patted Harry on the back.

“I try,” Harry beamed. “Y’know I’ve been thinking of writing my memoirs? Like a self help book. ‘So You’re On The Run from an International Criminal Justice Agency’ by Harry Strickland. Catchy right?”

Mace settled deeper into the couch, hoping that people had mostly moved on from the part where he had roofied everyone.

“We really need to track down Armory Lorch,” Jaime butted in. “I don’t suppose with any of your vast expertise of being on the run, you have any ideas?”

“Yes actually,” Harry pulled out his phone. “I hacked into the local police intranet. Anybody running naked through the streets of Dorne is bound to raise a couple of phone calls to local authorities. With any luck, they’ve filed incident reports that will give us some idea of his location.”

“The group that’s tracking down Lorch also needs to swap rings at the pawn shop and call Arthur Dayne, so a second group can break into the Daynes’ and return that sword,” Oberyn interjected.

“I’m clearly on the Lorch team, since I’m the one who knows what he looks like,” Jaime sighed. “Beric and Thoros should be on the Dayne team, since they broke in there last night. Maybe they’ll have muscle memory or something.”

“I’ve actually been to the Dayne estate, so I can go with them,” Oberyn offered.

“Right, Robert, you and Stannis come with me. With any luck, we can bribe him to sell the photos back to you instead of sending them to father,” Jaime frowned. “Ned, go with Oberyn.”

“Wait why? I really don’t trust Robert to carry the ring you guys, and I cannot miss my flight tonight—“

“Because I hate you. Stannis, take the ring from Ned,” Jaime ground out. 

“Who do I go with?” Mace asked timidly. Breaking into a house sounded exciting.

There was a pause.

“Um guys, I think I probably shouldn’t call Allyria again,” Beric cleared his throat. “There has to be a limit to the number of times in twenty-four hours that you’ll give your family’s security information out as a lark.”

“No problem, I spent about a week last month posing as an alarm technician to get the access codes to a number of the wealthy estates,” Harry assured Beric. “I’ll pull the Dayne numbers from my files and write them down for you.”

“Why would you do that?” Thoros asked suspiciously.

“Reasons,” Harry smiled in a not entirely friendly fashion. 

“Right... I think Harry should go with Bobby... I mean Robert,” Oberyn said slowly.

“Where am I going?” Mace asked again, crossing his fingers for the Daynes.

Another one of those awkward pauses.

“Nowhere Mace,” Stannis said flatly. “You roofied all of us for literally no reason.”

“Wait what?! You can’t just leave me behind by myself,” Mace protested. They hadn’t even left Robert behind by himself! And they couldn’t cut him out! He could be helpful, he was definitely helpful, like all the time! Like... like... well maybe not in the last twenty-four hours specifically, but most people found him to be a helpful person!

“Of course we won’t leave you by yourself,” Oberyn said soothingly. “You have the most important job of all.”

“Great, whatever it is, I’m game, I promise I won’t let you guys down,” Mace swore earnestly.

“Here,” Oberyn handed the baby to Mace.

“What?” Mace blinked down at the little boy.

“Well I can’t take Daemon on a burglary expedition,” Oberyn explained.

“Is it burglary if you’re returning something?” Thoros asked.

“No, burglary has two elements, namely illegal entry into a building and intent to commit theft,” Beric responded. “Without an intent to commit theft you don’t have the necessary mens rea. You could even break into a building and then if you stole something by accident, you still couldn’t be convicted.”

“How would you steal something by accident?”

“Like sleep walking, or if you thought something was yours or you thought you had permission to take—“

“NOBODY CARES BERIC!” Jaime shouted. Beric looked hurt. 

“You’ve been in such a grouchy mood Lannister,” Robert said reprovingly.

“Look, I have been roofied and chloroformed and shoved in a trunk and I am just trying to save YOUR skin,” Jaime growled.

“Which we’re all very appreciative of,” Ned put in.

“Stop sucking up!” Jaime snapped.

“What everyone means to say,” Stannis cut through their bickering stoically, still glaring at Mace, “is you’re going to stay here and mind the baby.”

“No. No no no no no,” Mace raised his hands, looking down at the child in his lap. “That’s all I do is mind the baby! I literally came here to escape minding the baby! Please, I will do anything BUT mind the baby!”

“Loras is four, which gives you approximately four times as much experience in this area as Ned, and infinity times more experience as everyone else,” Oberyn pointed out. “There is simply nobody I would trust more with my son and nobody I would trust less with anything else.”

“C’mon guys, we could get one of the maids to do this,” Mace pleaded.

“Everyone in favor of Mace staying here to watch the baby raise their hands,” Stannis growled.

Eight people raised their hands. Mace glared.

“Sit on this couch where you can’t mess anything up more than you already have,” Stannis said sternly.

As the gang all trooped off to their relative assignments, Mace sighed and found the bassinet. At least he could watch television... he looked over at the smashed screen across the room. Oh. Right.

Worst. Stag. Ever.

Mace gently placed the baby down in the bassinet, and poked around in the bags below. Sure enough, there was some formula and several brightly colored plastic bottles.

“You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?” Mace cooed absentmindedly. Certainly Loras had always been hungry at this age. And fussy. Hungry and fussy. Really not much had changed in three and a half years. The formula was thankfully ready to use and Mace poured it into a bottle at hand, attached the cap and gave it a good shake.

“Welcome to Mace Tyrell’s famous restaurant, the Highgarden Rose,” Mace bowed to the little baby. “Here at the Rose, we offer only the finest in food and service. Now what vintage can I offer you sir?”

“Gigity,” the baby said smiling sweetly.

“A very good decision sir, that’s our finest year,” Mace assured him, lifting him up and giving him the bottle, one hand beneath to steady it.

Listening to the contended slurping sounds of an exceptionally placid child, Mace felt almost at ease. 

And then there was a knock at the door.

“A Miss Ashara Dayne to see you,” came the voice of one of the Martell staff.

“Oh um, send her in?” Mace called back uncertainly. Was Daemon a secret? He wished Oberyn had given him more direction on this matter. He settled for arranging him back in the bassinet and pushing it into a closet.

“Hi everybody,” Ashara sang as she stepped into the room, and Mace had the usual disorienting moment when it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs. 

Ashara Dayne, younger sister to Arthur Dayne, one year above Mace at Prep, was shockingly beautiful. It shouldn’t even be allowed, how jaw-droppingly stunning she was. Olive skin, silky black hair, enormous purple-blue eyes. Mace felt his palms start to get sweaty, and if experience was any indicator, his eyes had probably gone all bulgy as well.

“Hullo Mace, where is everybody?” Ashara gave him a slight smile, and though it was but a gesture of politeness, Mace felt as if the entire world had fallen away and there was nobody there but the two of them.

“Oberyn, Ned, Beric and Thoros went over to your family’s house and Robert, Stannis, Jaime and our friend Harry, I don’t know if you’ve met him, went to a pawn shop to get Arthur’s ring back. Oberyn needs Arthur to fight Edgar Yronwood in a duel because a naked man broke Oberyn’s arm with a crowbar,” Mace was dimly aware that there was a voice babbling. Was that his voice? Shut up you idiot! But then Ashara’s smile widened, and even that feeble glimmer of independent thought flickered out.

“Then once they get Arthur’s ring, Jaime and Robert have to find the naked man, because he took these incriminating photos and he’s going to give them to Tywin Lannister and it’ll blow up the wedding!” Mace finished, nearly gasping for breath.

“Where’s the baby, Mace?” Ashara tilted her head quizzically.

“The... baby?” Mace repeated slowly, fighting to come up with a response in the face of her bewitching aura.

“The baby,” Ashara smiled again. 

“He’s in the closet,” the words were out of Mace’s mouth almost before the question had finished.

“You’re a sweetheart to look after him,” Ashara crooned, walking over and opening the door to poke her head in.

“I like to be helpful,” Mace puffed out his chest. “I have one of my own you know. Four years old. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Of course,” Ashara laughed, turning back toward him. Her own black hair and the baby’s were nearly identical. The baby was pale though. Northern complexion.

“This is Loras,” Mace showed her his lock screen. “I know his hair is long and he’s wearing a tutu, but he’s a boy.”

“No wonder Ned entrusted Jon to you,” Ashara smiled.

Mace blinked.

“Oberyn entrusted Daemon to me. I mean Tyene. But he’s going to get it legally changed,” Mace said.

Ashara frowned, and just the faintest sign of displeasure marring her lovely features was enough to send Mace into a spiral of apologies and explanations.

“I know it’s confusing, I like the name Tyene myself, but Oberyn doesn’t want him to be teased. I think that’s silly, I think affirmation from a parent is the most important gift you can give, you know Alerie is always saying that Loras needs to be less girly, but my mother for example was always very hard on me and it’s led to a very fraught—“

“Mace,” Ashara lifted a finger. Mace immediately quieted. “That’s not Oberyn’s baby. His name is Jon.”

“Oh,” Mace said stupidly. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Ashara raised an eyebrow. “I did name him.”

“Oh,” Mace blushed, the revelation suddenly dawning on him. “Ohhhhhh.”

“I explained everything to Ned of course, but the fact is that things aren’t safe for a newborn baby on the run, and I knew Ned would know what to do. He’s Jon’s family!”

“Erm yes,” Mace agreed automatically. “Ned is a wonderful father.”

“And he’ll be a wonderful father to Jon too, I know he will,” Ashara beamed. “I’m glad he’s doing okay, I just wanted to check in.”

And with a wave of her hand, the willowy silhouette of Ashara Dayne disappeared.

Mace let out a gasping shuddering breath.

Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne?!?!?!

But Ned was married! To Catelyn! He was going to a Stark-Tully family brunch tomorrow!

Mace’s phone began to ring and he clutched at it, certain it would be Oberyn, calling him to talk him through this mess.

“Mace, pookie, I’m missing you,” chirped the voice of his wife.

“Alerie,” he squeaked.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat too many of those Dornish spicy foods did you, you know they dont agree with your constitution.”

“No,” Mace gulped in some air. “It’s not that, I...”

“And you know your mother has been getting exceptionally nasty about you sticking to that paleo diet. Honestly Mace, I think we’re going to wake up one morning with a personal chef to monitor your caloric intake. And that’s fine for me, but you know how angry Loras gets when he doesn’t get his sweets. Isn’t that right, my little sugar bear!”

“I think Ned had a baby with Ashara Dayne,” Mace blurted. Immediately, the pain in the left side of his chest lessened, as if the secret had been a physical creature clawing to escape his body. But at what cost??

“Come again?” Alerie said slowly.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone, promise you won’t tell a soul,” Mace said, fear beginning to seep in.

“Of course,” Mace could practically hear Alerie’s excitement through the phone. There was nothing she liked more than hearing good gossip. Well, other than sharing it.

“This isn’t for certain okay? It’s not like she came out and said this is my love child with Ned,” Mace tried to walk it back.

“They dated in high school, didn’t they? Ashara was in my sorority at Sunspear, you remember sweetie,” Alerie purred. Was that the sound of text being sent?

“Look forget it, I’m sure I misunderstood,” Mace frantically backpeddled.

“What exactly did she say?” Alerie asked.

“Um something like how Ned would be a wonderful father for Jon and how they were family?” 

There! Just there! He heard the distinct sound of another text being sent.

“You’re right, that could be anything,” Alerie giggled.

“No I’m serious, I definitely misunderstood!” Mace protested. “Please you can’t tell anyone about this, things are really delicate between Ned and Cat right—“

There was a whoosh of another text.

“I can’t hear you darling, you’re breaking up!” Alerie called. “Lots of love from me and Loras, you stay out of trouble!”

The phone went dead.

Mace groaned and looked over at the baby.

“Gooolah,” Tyene/Daemon/Jon said amiably.

What had Stannis said? Stay on the couch where you can’t mess things up more than you already have?


	34. Cersei (Vice and Wish 9 of 12)

Cersei tried to maintain a pleasant expression on her face as Jon Arryn animatedly expounded on the symbolism of the weirwood in the legends of the First Men to her and Brienne.

Honestly, she didn’t have a dog in this race. If she were Lysa, she wasn’t sure whom she’d pick. Petyr Baelish was penniless of course, and Jon Arryn might play at being a high school lit teacher, but everyone knew that the Arryns owned half of the Vale. They were one of the largest landowning families in Westeros. But money wasn’t everything. Petyr had ambition and his career would be exciting and come with power and influence. Personally, that appealed to Cersei more than being some high school teacher’s wife, no matter how loaded he was. 

But Petyr cheated on Lysa, and Cersei couldn’t imagine tolerating that kind of disrespect without eventually being driven to killing him.

But Jon Arryn had once given her an A minus on a book report on Wuthering Heights! An A MINUS!

It really was a difficult decision.

But at the end of the day, Petyr was an occasionally useful person to have around. Cersei just didn’t see how Lysa dating Jon Arryn benefited her, Cersei Lannister. And once she was committed, well Cersei Lannister had never lost in her life.

But she’d realized, the moment that Jon Arryn responded immediately and Petyr Baelish did not, that she might have her work cut out for her. The problem, at the end of the day, was that while Petyr was great at digging up dirt on people and subtly manipulating them, he was not great at being a boyfriend. If Cersei didn’t intervene, Petyr would just pretend he hadn’t seen the text, and when he finally did show up to pick Lysa up at the original time, Jon Arryn would have already walked away with the prize.

However actually warning him proved to be trickier than anticipated. Cersei had turned her phone over uncomplainingly—she was never without a burner or two in her bag—but getting away from Melisandre to actually send the text proved nigh impossible.

Finally ensconced in a bathroom stall, Cersei had been forced to pour out a small bottle of perfume into the toilet to get the desired sound effects as she quickly typed out a warning to Petyr. After that, it was a simple matter of grabbing an extra pair of earrings while she was getting everyone’s outfits sorted, and transferring them to Petyr’s pocket when she’d hugged him hello.

Now though, she’d laid all the groundwork and could relax and enjoy her victory. Petyr could easily be charming when the occasion called for it, and he had a seven year head start on Jon Arryn. A tranquil boat ride across the misty lake, some beautiful sights, some emotional reminiscing... Some of the grounds crew went running by the window, looking harried. Odd.

“In fact, the sheer wilderness of the forest, the untamed tangle of it existing nearly upon civilization, reminded me of your essay on the moors as an expression of the soul. Do you remember that Cersei? I submitted it to that national essay contest on your behalf and it won third prize!” Jon Arryn beamed at her.

“...you submitted that?” Cersei said in a strangled tone. She had never known who had sent it in, but had rather assumed it was Jaime.

“Of course! I remember writing in my comments that it was the best essay I’d read in years!”

“But you gave me an A minus!” Cersei sputtered. 

“I gave you an A plus,” Jon Arryn frowned. “I had to write a note to Aemon Targaryen explaining why the curve would be thrown off and getting special permission.”

Had Cersei misread that grade? She did recall him having atrocious handwriting... There was a low buzz of conversation as some new guests walked by the library.

“...can’t think what could have happened. Those poor people stranded!”

Cersei glanced at her watch. Lysa and Petyr should have been back half an hour ago.

“Would you just excuse me for a brief moment?” Cersei smiled sweetly, leaving Brienne to keep him entertained.

She hurried down to the docks, only to see Catelyn bundling her dripping and shivering sister into a large fluffy towel as a flustered dock manager tried to offer her hot cocoa and a discount on future trips.

“Well Jon wins quality time,” Lysa huffed, upon seeing Cersei.

“What happened?” Cersei frowned.

“Well first our engine started making a funny noise and then it died when we got out to the middle of the water! And Petyr made me swim to get help and my dress is sopping wet!” Lysa recounted dramatically, although she seemed more excited than upset. “You know Jon would have never made me swim for it. He’s a great swimmer, we saw him in the Summer Islands all the time! Or he could have fixed the engine himself. Did you know he was in the Air Force?”

As Lysa prattled, Cersei analyzed the facts at hand. There was no way that the boat had just ACCIDENTALLY broken down. Someone had sabotaged it. Someone who had disappeared for an hour shortly before their boat ride. Cersei turned on Melisandre who was surveying the scene with disinterest.

“You couldn’t have possibly known which boat they would take out,” Cersei began slowly. “Why you would have had to tamper with...”

“All of them,” Melisandre said boredly. Cersei’s gaze slowly lifted to the lake where at least eight boats could be spotted stranded, their occupants frantically waving to shore. Suddenly the commotion amongst the staff made sense.

“Why that’s...” Cersei began.

“Cheating?” Melisandre asked wryly.

“Brilliant,” Cersei conceded. 

She had cheated on an epic scale, and not for any normal reason like Cersei who wanted Petyr to be around to continue to do errands for her. She couldn’t be bullied, bought or reasoned with. Some women just wanted to watch the world burn. Cersei had new found respect for Melisandre, and reminded herself to cross her only if the occasion absolutely called for it. 

“So that means it’s one all,” Cersei folded her arms.

“Guess we’ll need acts of service to be our tie-breaker after all,” Melisandre allowed the faintest smirk to curve her features.

“No holds barred?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Melisandre riposted.

“Then give me back my phone,” Cersei said haughtily. You didn’t ask Michelangelo to work with a sledgehammer after all. An artist needed their tools.

“Fine,” Melisandre tossed it back. 

Cersei checked it and then did a double-take. Three HUNDRED texts?! She’d been away for a couple hours sure, but even for her this was a lot.

Then she opened the first thread. Then she sat down on the dock.

“Oh what happened?” Melisandre snarked. “Don’t tell me your Vogue coverage got pulled.”

“It might be worse than that,” Cersei admitted flatly. 

There was a pause and then Melisandre huffed as she smoothed her skirt and sat down on the dock next to her. Cersei handed the phone over without looking, choosing to squint instead at the figure in the lake that she was fairly sure was Petyr Baelish.

“Oh shit,” Melisandre breathed. “Is this for real?”

“Taena was sorority sisters with Alysanne Hightower who’s Alerie Tyrell’s sister and Alerie says she got it from Mace who spoke to Ashara herself,” Cersei said matter of factly.

“So...?”

“Almost certainly.”

According to Taena, according to Alysanne, according to Alerie, according to Mace, Ashara fucking Dayne had a bastard child with Ned Stark and wanted him to take it.

Clearly there were questions. Was it before he married Catelyn or after? Had he even known about the child? What would this do to her seating arrangement? 

“One of us has to tell her,” Melisandre said slowly. Cersei looked back down the dock where Catelyn had cajoled Lysa into taking the hot chocolate and was popping a marshmallow into her mouth. Finally distracted, she seemed almost happy.

“I’ll tell her,” Cersei said grimly. Crushing people’s happiness was a specialty of hers. “But first we need information.”

She got Alerie’s number from her wedding spreadsheet, and dialed it. The phone only rang once before she heard Alerie’s eager hello.

“Cersei Lannister! What a surprise!” Alerie sounded positively delighted. Cersei pulled up her mental Rolodex. One of the Oldtown Hightowers, mediocre grades, went to Sunspear even though her family practically built the Citadel. Spreading her legs for the likes of Mace Tyrell was probably the smartest move she’d ever made. Second smartest, if rumors about a safety pin and a condom were true.

“I realized I never thanked you for the lovely—“ Cersei checked the spreadsheet on her phone and rolled her eyes, honestly if this was the best you could do why bother, “—dish towels you sent as an engagement present.” 

“Oh you’re so sweet!” Alerie said. “Say, while you’re on the phone, have you heard the latest?”

“About Ashara Dayne? Naturally, Ned is Robert’s best man,” Cersei replied lightly. “What have you heard? I do so love how the details get twisted in each retelling.”

“This wasn’t a retelling,” Alerie sounded a trifle affronted that Cersei thought she had better sources. “This was straight from the horse’s mouth. My husband spoke to Ashara herself, and she told a Mace that Ned was family and that he’d be a wonderful father.”

“Ah,” Cersei said, brain dissecting the words frantically, trying to produce any alternative but the one inescapable conclusion. “That’s not exactly right.”

“No?” Alerie sounded suspicious. How to sell this?

“Let me just get permission to spill the beans,” Cersei dropped her voice conspiratorially. “I promised I wouldn’t tell, you know how these things are.”

“Of course,” Alerie still sounded on the fence.

“But tell you what, I’ll call you back with the real scoop. You’ll be the very first to know. Deal?”

And on that, Alerie Tyrell née Hightower was sold.

Catelyn was still talking to Lysa.

“Just remember at the end of the day, this is your decision. It’s your life, not some silly game we’re playing, and you shouldn’t pick who you date based on what will make certain people happy...”

“Excuse me, can I talk to you for a moment?” Cersei interjected. An expression of annoyance flashed across Catelyn’s face, but then she saw Melisandre hovering behind her, face ashen.

“What’s happened?” Catelyn said, and her voice quavered and for a moment even Cersei felt a little queasy.

“There is a malicious rumor going around that Ashara Dayne had a child with Ned,” Cersei said briskly, squelching any squeamishness.

“What?” Catelyn said slowly.

“It’s Alerie Tyrell who’s spreading it, that little gossipy twat, as if she’s one to talk about children out of wedlock,” Cersei gave a judgmental sniff. Melisandre cleared her throat and Cersei wondered if she was coming down with something and made a mental note to have her personal physician pay a house call to all the bridesmaids. Nobody would be getting sick on HER wedding day.

“What?”

“When really all Ashara said was that Ned was family to her son. So I think this is just a misunderstanding but it is IMPERATIVE that we get out ahead of this story.”

“What?” 

Cersei ground her teeth. She just did not have time for this kind of coddling. She grabbed Catelyn’s shoulders and stared her in the eye.

“Would Ned cheat on you?”

At last from the wellspring of hurt and bafflement and confusion came a spark of something angrier.

“He certainly would not. He’s not Robert.”

Okay, just this once, Cersei was going to let that pass. But if Catelyn ever made a comment like that again, Cersei would hack off her stupid braid in her sleep.

“Right. Who would cheat on you? Who DID cheat on you sophomore year of high school as I recall?”

Catelyn frowned and then there was a dawning recognition.

“Brandon.”

“Right! Brandon Stark never could keep it in his pants. Who’s he dating now? Barbrey Dustin? So he has some torrid little affair with Ashara, gets her in the family way and waltzes back north to his political career and pretends it never happens. Meanwhile Ned runs into Ashara in Dorne, and the whole secret come spilling out,” Cersei finished with just a note of pride. She could totally be a detective. Not that she would ever take a job that paid below six figures. What did a detective make?

“So Ashara had a baby with Brandon, but now Alerie Tyrell is telling everyone it’s Ned’s?!” Catelyn repeated as she worked through the information.

“Oh gods,” Lysa breathed. “The brunch!”

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Cersei said flatly. “Jon Arryn is going to turn around and go home and surprise Hoster Tully with eighteen holes of golf at his club. Or whatever it takes to get him away from his phone. The last thing we need is someone like Olenna Tyrell calling him up ‘just to say hi’. I’m going to go through out school newspaper archives... remember when Brandon asked Ashara to dance at spring fling and it made front page? I’ll text that photo to Alerie. Meanwhile, Petyr is going doctor one of Brandon’s recent publicity photos to have Ashara in the background. He’ll casually ask one of Alerie’s friends if Brandon and Ashara are dating, it’ll get back to her within a couple of hours and by tomorrow morning, the truth will be known.”

“I’ll get Jon and Brienne and let them know,” Melisandre said and hurried back toward the hotel.

“What should we do?” Lysa asked.

Cersei rolled her neck, feeling the joints popping into place. Now this was a challenge worthy of her time.

“You are getting Petyr off that fucking boat,” she said.

While Lysa and Catelyn swam back out, Cersei closed her eyes to think. She needed a student ID to access the school newspaper archives. Who did she know in at Prep? Tyrion had graduated the year before, and it’s not like he’d had many friends... wait a minute.

“Go for Renly,” Renly Baratheon drawled on the third ring. Cersei, who could hear a decidedly masculine giggle on the other side, gritted her teeth.

“I need your user name and password for Prep,” she said.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“You know who this is!” Cersei snapped.

“Ah I didn't recognize your voice without that hysteric pitch. Do I even want to know why you’re trolling your old high school’s intranet? Or are you on the prowl for fresh meat already?”

“Renly, if you give me your account information this instant, I will have you cast in your first television role before the month is out.”

“You can’t do that,” Renly laughed, although Cersei detected an undercurrent of interest.

“If I can make Beric Dondarrion famous, just think what I can do for you,” she purred.

“My username is RBaratheon2,” Renly said, sounding slightly sour about that fact, “and my password is Tywin4Evah. Do you need help spelling Tywin? It’s—“

Cersei hung up on him with a shudder.

When Petyr was finally towed by the Tully sisters to dry land, Cersei was carefully cropping the archive photo on her phone to make it look like a candid.

“I hear my services are required,” he said in an oily voice that showed a lot of confidence for someone who hadn’t just been saved by his girlfriend and her sister.

“I need recent photographic evidence that Brandon and Ashara Dayne are a thing,” Cersei said, fiddling with her phone to try and lighten the photo.

Petyr didn’t even ask how he was going to be paid. Maybe he did care about Lysa.

“Don’t worry Cat, I have just the photo,” he put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “I caught a candid of Brandon walking in the rain with an aide under an umbrella that I never found any use for. I’ll just swap in Ashara’s face, and nobody ever need to know Ned Stark’s dirty secret.”

“It’s not true Petyr,” Cersei said crossly.

“Of course it’s not,” Petyr stroked Catelyn’s hair.

“Right, I’m just going to say goodbye to Jon Arryn,” Catelyn mumbled, extricating herself. Cersei would have scolded her for blowing the game and scolded Petyr for not acting surprised, but there just wasn’t time for that.

She finished doctoring the photo to her satisfaction and leaned back to craft the perfect text.

_You’re right about one thing,_ she began to Alerie, _Ned is family._

She texted the photo of Brandon and Ashara dancing.

_He’s just not the father. Did you know that Brandon and Ashara had a torrid affair sophomore year? It was our school’s best kept secret._

Alerie called her almost immediately, but Cersei let it go to voicemail. A little mystery added to the charm of the story.

“I texted Jorah Mormont, who was my year at Prep and knows the Starks. He’s dating Alerie’s cousin Lynesse,” Petyr said briskly. “In my experience, he tells her everything.”

“Isn’t Petyr brilliant?” Lysa beamed.

“Not bad,” Cersei conceded. “Let’s find the others.”

By the time they located Brienne and Melisandre, Cersei’s phone was buzzing like an angry hornet. She smirked. Dance puppets.

“Catelyn went back to the library, she just needed a moment alone,” Brienne said worriedly.

“Jon promised to keep Hoster away from his phone even if he has to drop it off a cliff,” Melisandre added.

“I’d better check on Cat,” Petyr said solicitously and excused himself.

“Our counter story has been leaked and is making the rounds,” Cersei smirked. “Also apparently Barbrey Dustin threw a plate at a waiter’s head ten minutes ago, so you know SHE’S heard it.”

“Barbrey and Brandon always seemed rather happy,” Lysa shook her head. “Volatile, but happy.”

Cersei shrugged. She had difficulty feeling empathy for people she didn’t know. And for people she did know. Everyone really.

“I have to admit,” Melisandre looked around to make sure Petyr had actually left. “As far as acts of service go, Baelish did come through.”

“Yeah, that photo was so well done,” Brienne chipped in. “I never would have thought it was a fake for a second!”

“We stopped playing the game, it was a draw,” Cersei waved her hand magnanimously. Even though she totally had won.

“Just saying, now is your chance to make us eat salads and wear silly outfits,” Melisandre said drily.

Cersei was about to respond that they really shouldn’t be eating at all when there was a scream from the library.

“What was—“ Brienne began.

“Cat!” Lysa bolted toward the sound. There was a second scream, this one definitely Lysa. The remaining three looked at each other.

Brienne, having much longer strides than either Melisandre or Cersei, managed to get there first, but all that time on the treadmill had made Cersei plenty spry, and she arrived second only to bounce off Brienne’s back. Shit, that better not bruise.

Petyr was standing before Catelyn and Lysa, his eyes wide and his face branded with a dark red handprint.

“Let me explain,” he began desperately.

“You TRIED TO KISS ME!” Catelyn howled.

“I misread the situation...”

“She’s MY SISTER!” Lysa screamed.

“I just thought that with Ned’s recent indiscretions...”

“GET OUT!!!” They yelled in unison.

Petyr looked at Cersei plaintively. She gave him her coldest death stare and pointed toward the door.

“Fuck having a conversation with him,” Catelyn sniffed, wiping away a tear. “He’s the worst Lysa.”

“He’s dumped,” Lysa hugged her. “Choosing Jon. Don’t cry, why are you crying? I’ll start crying!”

“It’s just been such a shitty week,” Catelyn admitted, scrubbing at her face as if she could erase the evidence of the tears. “Gods Cersei, I’m so sorry, this weekend is supposed to be about you and I’ve made it all about me and my problems!”

“You haven’t,” Cersei protested, after a small nudge from Brienne.

“I have!” Catelyn gave a hiccupy sob.

“Listen, it takes a selfish bitch to know a selfish bitch, and you my dear don’t have what it takes,” Cersei put her hand on her hip, which at least earned a smile through the tears. But then Catelyn kept crying. Ugh she was always shit at comforting people. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Lysa was crooning, rubbing her back. “You’ll see.”

“I can’t even get him on the phone!!”

“You know they’ve made some stupid boy bet to turn off their phones because they’re stupid boys,” Brienne had sat down on Catelyn’s other side.

“Petyr was supposed to pick us up! Now we don’t even have a ride home!”

Petyr. The snivelly weaselly untrustworthy little TURD! Cersei clenched her fists, feeling her nails digging into her palms. After all she’d done to help him with Lysa!! She had given him her one of a kind earrings!! How the fuck was she supposed to get those back! And worse... technically... from a certain light... if you squinted...

Cersei looked over to where Catelyn was still a pathetic blubbery mess. She closed her eyes. Was she really going to do this? Gods help us all.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat. Nobody paid her any mind.

“BRIDAL ANNOUNCEMENT!” Cersei bellowed. That got their notice.

“As I was saying,” she continued sweetly. “It has come to my attention that Catelyn and I have lost.”

“Lost?” Brienne blinked.

“The bet. You see...”

“Lysa chose Jon Arryn,” Melisandre breathed.

“Therefore...”

“You have to wear anything we want! And you have to EAT anything we want!” Melisandre finished triumphantly.

“Cersei, I don’t think...” Catelyn began.

“Hush, eating your feelings away is a time honored tradition for a reason,” Cersei shushed her. Only to gulp at Melisandre’s slightly deranged smile.

Two hours later, they were eating at the most disgustingly greasy pub Cersei had ever set foot in. It made Robert’s old favorite Hollow Hill look fancy by comparison.

“I recommend the jalapeño poppers,” Melisandre said politely. 

“Boys suck,” Catelyn announced to the table, shoving a nacho (piled high with ground meat of some kind and sour cream and... was cheese supposed to be that color?) into her mouth. “Brandon sucks, Petyr really sucks, and my father is THE WORST.”

“Have some more beer,” Cersei sighed and pushed the pitcher over.

“And you need to eat,” Brienne said firmly, depositing a burger on her plate.

“Excuse me?” Cersei arched an eyebrow.

“I mopped up the oil with my napkin, and you can take the bun off, but I don’t think you’ve had solid food in days and it’s making you even worse than...” Brienne realized what she was saying and abruptly shut her mouth flushing, but still shoved the plate toward Cersei.

Cersei eyed the bare patty suspiciously. She cut off the smallest sliver and placed it in her mouth as Brienne watched her, chewing slowly with narrowed eyes. They might break her diet but they would never break her will.

“Um hi,” some local yokel who fancied himself a ladies’ man had approached the table. “Me and my mates couldn’t help but notice your dresses.”

Cersei looked around at the five of them in their equally tacky thrift store wedding dresses. She’d insisted on the other girls joining her and Catelyn when she’d seen what Melisandre had planned. And well, Lysa didn’t take much convincing, and then it was three against two.

“Where are your grooms?” The guy grinned, running his hand through his hair.

“You’ve been watching us for the last twenty-five minutes and that’s the best you could come up with?” Cersei asked boredly.

“You’re a man. Do you suck?” Catelyn squinted at him suspiciously.

“Are you going to date me for six years and then try and get it on with my sister?” Lysa stuck out her tongue.

“Um what?” The guy gave a nervous laugh. “I should be getting back to my friends.”

“Please stay,” Melisandre purred, tossing her veil behind her. “You can marry all of us.”

The man fled.

There was a pause and then they all burst out laughing.

“Can you imagine Stannis’ expression if he heard you say that?” Brienne teased Melisandre.

“Hey what happens during the hen party stays with the hen party,” Melisandre tsked.

“But what happens at brunch needs to be shared with all of us,” Cersei put in.

“Maybe it’s just the beer but I’m rather looking forward to brunch,” Catelyn gave a rather dreamy smile. “I’ve been spending all this time trying to make everybody else happy. Well now we’re going to try something different.”

“That’s right! Hear me roar!” Cersei encouraged.

“You’re Catelyn fucking Tully-Stark!” Brienne piled on.

“Tell your dad where he can shove his eligible young men!” Melisandre whooped.

Lysa didn’t say anything, just slid a quarter into the jukebox.

In retrospect, Cersei was almost glad that she wasn’t allowed to drink. Had she been drunk, she might have missed the Tully sisters belting “I Will Survive” from on top of the table. Had she been drunk, she might have missed Melisandre dragging Brienne on a crazy cheek to cheek tango down the aisle. Or throwing a glass at the bartender when he cut her off. She would have missed them all fleeing into the night, laughing hysterically, when he called the cops. Catelyn insisted on carrying her bridal style as Brienne shout-sang the wedding march, and Lysa skipped ahead of them, stealing flowers from people’s window boxes to sprinkle in their path.

Had Cersei been drunk, she might have missed any number of details. But she didn’t take a single photo to use later. Now that was friendship.


	35. Jaime (Vice and Wish 10 of 12)

Jaime leaned against the window of a thoroughly disreputable pawn shop in the shadow city of Sunspear, nursing a throbbing headache and the newfound knowledge that all of his cards were frozen. On another trip, he could almost imagine enjoying this scene—the cloudless blue sky, the sandstone architecture, the colorful silks that the women all seemed to wear. He thought about buying Brienne a dress in the Dornish style, though he knew she’d never wear it in public. Still, the thought of Brienne striding toward him, legs wrapped in diaphanous blue silk... maybe it would be worth it, even if she only wore it in private.

Yes someday he would come back with Brienne and they would do Sunspear properly and there would be no rohypnol and no chloroform and no locking people or being locked by people into car trunks.

All the same, Jaime was grimly determined to see this through. 

He didn’t feel guilty exactly, but he did have the vague sense that in the grand scheme of things, he had perhaps done Robert a disservice. Certainly he owed it to his sister to prevent their father from ruining everything. At the very least, he refused to let his father achieve what he had so miserably failed at.

So he would grin and bear it. Or at least bear it.

“Taken care of,” Stannis announced, emerging into the sunlight and displaying a simple but elegant diamond with a golden band for inspection.

“Arthur says he’s five minutes away,” Robert looked up from his phone.

Strickland took out an earbud from where he had been listening to something on his laptop.

“There have been four complaints from Plankytown about a naked man since noon.”

“Is that far?” Jaime asked the lanky menace begrudgingly.

“About forty minutes east of here along the Greenblood. My guess is he got to the river and swam out to one of the barges and got a lift without anyone noticing,” Strickland said matter of factly.

“Oh is that Arthur?” Robert looked up as a car pulled in across the street. 

“Where is it?” The man ran across the street, nearly getting run over by a taxi and a rickshaw.

“Stannis has it,” Robert assured him.

“Well?” Arthur held his hand out. Stannis sighed.

“Robert, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask Arthur?” Stannis prodded through gritted teeth.

“Right,” Robert cleared his throat. “Arthur, I’ve always considered you a man of honor and integrity.”

“Thanks, Baratheon,” Arthur rolled his eyes, pointedly not returning the compliment.

“So here’s the thing. I beat you. Fair and square,” Robert pressed on.

Jaime admitted to feeling curious as to how this was going to turn out.

“If you consider fair me being drunk off my ass,” Arthur growled.

“I do. So if I’m giving you back this ring that I won fair and square, I kind of think you owe me a favor,” Robert continued, seemingly unruffled by the hostility.

“And let me guess, you have something specific in mind,” Arthur grimaced.

“Yup! And it’s one you’ll be happy to do!”

“Enlighten me.”

“I need you to pretend to be me to fight a duel to defend your future brother-in-law’s honor!”

Arthur fixed Robert with the kind of baffled and incredulous look that Jaime saw too often on people who didn’t know Robert well.

“He’s quite serious,” Jaime interjected helpfully.

“Who am I dueling?” Arthur pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Edgar Yronwood. Middle-aged angry chap. Yells a lot.”

“I know who he is,” Arthur sighed. “Why does he want to duel Oberyn?”

“Remember how you were telling us that Oberyn got us all kicked out of that strip club for breaking into Yronwood’s private room? Well it turned out, he got a whole bunch of pictures of Yronwood having sex with a prostitute and then texted them to his fiancé, this smoking hot pirate girl, and she gave Yronwood the heave ho.”

“Oberyn did WHAT?!”

“I know right?! All those pictures of that creep having sex, and not a single one of me getting a lap dance!”

“But why did you get involved?! And why...”

“Listen, once you spend more time with Robert, you’ll learn that the ‘why’ is beside the point. It’s always strange or nonsensical and distracts from the when and the where,” Jaime cut in smoothly.

“Midnight. Orphan’s Cove. Please wear a baclava,” Stannis added, opening his hand once more to show Arthur the ring.

Arthur wavered, but it was clearly taking all of his will power to not snatch it straight away.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But only because he’s about to be family.”

Jaime could really relate.

“Knew we could count on you Dayne,” Robert grinned.

“Good show old chap,” Harry said absently, before turning back to his laptop.

“Who is that?” Arthur frowned, turning to Jaime, who he had identified as the voice of reason in this group.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaime assured him. “Besides the point. Just midnight at the Orphan’s Cove.”

“With a baclava,” Stannis added.

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“With a baclava,” he conceded.

“Do you need one?” Stannis asked solicitously. “I have one in my suitcase.”

Oberyn’s champion procured, they piled into Beric’s car to drive to Plankytown. (Oberyn had refused to let the Dragon out of his sight, which had led to a compromise whereby Beric had given the keys to Stannis on the understanding that they would be given to nobody else. Jaime wondered if Beric was aware of Stannis’ sordid history of having sex on the hoods of people’s cars.)

“Fortunately, I have a number of connections with the Orphans of the Greenblood. They basically run Plankytown, they’ll know where this man is hiding,” Harry said cheerfully to Robert in the back.

“Sweet,” Robert said cheerfully.

“The Orphans of the Greenblood?!” Jaime said through gritted teeth. “Aren’t they that crazy fringe separatist group that wants to secede from Dorne?”

“Don’t get them started on that or we’ll never have time to track Lorch down,” Harry acknowledged the question cheerfully. “Bloody fanatics on the subject.”

“They are terrorists!” Jaime hissed at Stannis. Stannis was focused on adjusting and readjusting his rear view mirror.

“I’ve been doing business with them for years,” Harry continued blithely. “Military grade weapons for the most part, branching into explosives in the last few years. Always pay on time.”

“Stannis!” Jaime hissed again.

Stannis carefully signaled a lane shift, checked and re-checked his blind spot, and then pulled out.

“And never any problem meeting in international waters, it’s marvelous how far out those houseboats can go.”

“Stannis!”

“Jaime,” Stannis looked at him wearily. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Jaime had to concede that he did not.

“This is such an adventure Lannister! You and me and Stannis, hunting down a spy! If only Ned were here, I’d have all my brothers!”

“You’re forgetting about Renly,” Stannis noted acidly.

“Am I?” Robert yawned.

Harry Strickland’s contact Garin was a dark skinned man with closely shorn curly black hair and a jade stud in one of his ears. He seemed easy-going and affable of manner, although he had an initial exchange at the outset with Harry about the fireworks at Sevenmas that left Jaime uneasy.

“I’ve made the inquiries about this man as you requested. It’s a tight-knit community, and well it’s been a subject of some amusement and concern amongst the orphans. Yandry from the Shy Maid reported a number of his clothes missing from his washing line, and a northerner in Rhoynish garb rented a room for the night in one of the pole boats. Here’s the address,” Garin handed them a scrap of paper.

“Armory Lorch isn’t a northerner, he’s from Lannisport,” Jaime frowned.

“You’re all northerners to us,” Garin smiled, and the glint of a golden tooth winked at them.

“D’you think I should get a gold tooth?” Robert asked the group at large as they walked their way along the wooden docks and boardwalks of Plankytown. He wiggled his tongue through the gap in his own grin.

“No,” Stannis said, right as Strickland said “Definitely.”

“Tie-breaker, Lannister!”

Jaime, who had been marveling at the colorful and wonderfully intricate houseboats that filled the harbor—truly a town afloat—blinked.

“Gold retains value in all markets, and you can’t put a price on having your wealth mobile and on your person at all times,” Strickland rolled up a sleeve to reveal a rather garish gold watch.

“You would look ridiculous,” Stannis crossed his arms.

“Oh look we’re here,” Jaime said, to avoid having to answer.

The pole boat in question was broad and garishly decorated, advertising rooms that could be let by the night or by the hour and free internet.

As the four shuffled on board, Harry smiled at the proprietor and cracked his back, which revealed the gun brace under his jacket. The proprietor bowed nervously, gave them the key to the northerner’s room and promptly exited the boat.

Armory Lorch was a pasty unpleasant man, who Jaime disliked intensely. He was stupid and cruel and had replaced Gregor Clegane’s father on Tywin Lannister’s security team. 

They found him at the desk of the small room on a beat up laptop of some sort. His face twisted with barely repressed fury when he saw Jaime.

“Lorch, we have to stop running into each other like this,” Jaime said lightly. The man’s beady eyes darted to a crowbar that was lying on the bed.

“What do you want?” He snapped. “I work for your father not for you.”

“And what does my father have you doing?” Jaime asked, baring his teeth in a smile.

“Surveillance,” Lorch crossed his arms, and pushed the laptop toward them. “You thought you were awfully cute throwing my camera in the river. Well the photos uploaded the moment I took them.”

Jaime looked down. Sure enough, there was a slim girl exiting the Water Gardens, head down, face concealed by her habit. There she was turning the corner. And there she was frowning directly at the camera.

Jaime swallowed, temporarily speechless.

It was Lyanna Stark.

He hadn’t seen her since before finals of junior year of high school. That had been what—six years? But it was still unmistakably her, the dark brown hair, the pale skin, the flashing gray eyes. 

Lyanna Stark, Robert’s first girlfriend, photographed holding a baby in his bedroom, sneaking out of his bedroom disguised as a nun.

“Jackpot,” Lorch gave them a wormy smile.

“Jaime, I didn’t... I wouldn’t have...” Robert stammered.

“I know,” Jaime said. And surprisingly, despite his low opinion of Robert, he did know. He doubted many things about Robert’s fitness as a husband and a parent, but one thing he did not doubt was that Robert genuinely loved Cersei.

“It was Ned’s bedroom too,” Stannis pointed out. “She could have wanted to bring him the baby.”

“I doubt Mr. Lannister will see it that way,” Lorch sneered.

“Which is why you will not be sending those photos to father,” Jaime said firmly. 

“I believe I’ve made it clear that you don’t tell me what to do.”

“If it’s a question of money,” Stannis said stiffly. “I think you’ll find we can double whatever Tywin Lannister is offering.”

“It’d be a lot of money to make it worth it when Tywin Lannister found I’d screwed him over,” Lorch scoffed. “Thanks but I’ll pass.”

“You seem very scared of Tywin Lannister,” Robert growled, nostrils flaring. “Perhaps you should be more concerned about threats closer at hand.”

“Do you want to fight?” Lorch snapped back, grabbing the crowbar.

It’s anybody’s guess what would have happened next, except Harry Strickland stepped forward.

“Left knee,” he said.

“Wha—“ Lorch began and then there was a gunshot and it was so loud that every rational thought escaped Jaime’s brain.

The next thing he was aware of was Stannis pinching his arm. He was on the ground and there was someone howling in the background and then abrupt silence.

“Ow,” Jaime glared.

“I’m okay,” Stannis said.

“Okay?” Jaime repeated slightly sarcastically.

“So you can let go now,” Stannis said stiffly. Jaime realized with some embarrassment that he had thrown himself on top of the middle Baratheon. 

“Right,” he scrambled off, face feeling flushed and overwarm. He was trembling, he realized. The gunshot...

“It’s fine,” Stannis said uncertainly.

“Yeah, sorry, it just reminded me...” Jaime’s voice thickened, and he realized with some alarm that he might be on the verge of crying. Six years of fucking therapy, and all it took was a gunshot to set him off?

“Yeah me too,” Stannis took a deep breath. “Do you want a candy bar? I have some in my day pack.”

“Uh yeah some chocolate would be good,” the laugh came out a little shaky.

There was no crazy mayor, just a crazy hitman, and he was on their side, Jaime told himself as he bit into a Snickers. Get a grip on yourself.

Strickland had proceeded to gag Lorch and then bind up his leg with a bed sheet. Now he was sitting on the bed, directly across from Lorch at the desk.

“I always like to call my shots, you see,” Harry was saying. “More sporting.”

Lorch said something through the gag that was definitely not complimentary.

“I’m sympathetic to what you’ve been through, really. You’re just trying to do your job and the next thing you know you’re naked in a car trunk. We’ve all been there. I think any reasonable man would agree that you deserve to be compensated for your suffering. And for the photos that were tragically lost when they were thrown in the river,” Harry continued pleasantly. 

“I noticed you said that it would take a lot of money to make it worth screwing over Tywin Lannister. Not no amount of money. So I guess the question is, what is your number?” Harry asked slowly, tapping the gun against the palm of his other hand.

Lorch glared and shouted something through the towel that Jaime was pretty sure was a suggestion to perform a physically impossible anatomical act.

“I see,” Harry scratched his head with the gun. “Well in that case, right testes.”

Lorch’s number was fifty thousand dragons, wired to his account in the next twenty-four hours, or Tywin Lannister would be perusing the photos over Tuesday’s morning coffee.

“But all our cards are frozen,” Oberyn frowned when they ran into him, Beric, Thoros and Ned back at the entrance of the Water Gardens. THEIR leg of the adventure appeared to have gone seamlessly as they were minus one antique sword.

“Not to worry chaps, I have a plan,” Harry said brightly. Jaime flinched. He was discovering that Harry Strickland’s plans were like Robert’s plans on acid.

“I just need to hit my cache tonight. If a couple of you help me with carrying it out, maybe while the rest of you are at this duel, I’ll spot you the money.”

Jaime waited for the catch. Where did the murder or terrorists or chloroform come in?

“You can get your ring back AND pay off Lorch in one go,” Harry said jovially to Robert.

“Geez dude, I don’t know how to thank you,” Robert breathed. “Like you’re rescuing me from getting blackmailed on my bachelor party by my future father-in-law’s security goon!”

“We’ve all been there,” Harry beamed.

“That means entrusting somebody else with the ring though Ned,” Robert joked, patting Ned on the back.

Ned had been completely silent throughout this proceeding, his face gray.

“... because you know, you have to get your flight back tonight. For your brunch with Cat and the family tomorrow,” Robert continued uncertainly, when Ned looked at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I’m not going to make the flight,” Ned said flatly after a beat.

“You have to make the flight, Cat’s counting on you,” Beric interjected, frowning.

“Don’t you guys get it? The girl that Yronwood kidnapped coming out of the Water Gardens,” Ned snapped. “It wasn’t Oberyn’s septa. It was Lyanna. Yronwood has Lyanna, and I’m not leaving Dorne without her.”

“Oh fuck,” Robert said slowly.

“You NEED to be at King’s Landing tomorrow,” Jaime ground out grudgingly. Since arguably he’d had a hand in making that mess. “We can get Lyanna back.”

“I appreciate it, but I just can’t. She’s my sister, I need to know she’s safe,” Ned said firmly.

“I don’t understand what she was even doing here!” Stannis huffed. 

“Um I know who might be able to clear up a few things,” Mace squeaked from the couch. Was it just Jaime or did Mace look rather unwell?

On Ashara Dayne’s arrival, everybody in the room straightened up. Even Jaime, though he’d always preferred blonds. You couldn’t help it, she just had the kind of presence that made you take notice.

“How do you not remember agreeing to take YOUR NEPHEW?!” Ashara snapped at Ned. Ned glared at Mace. Mace slumped deeper into the couch.

“You have to understand a bachelor party can get a little out of hand. Some substances were consumed that emphatically should not have been,” Oberyn jumped in, also glaring at Mace. 

The story was simple. Ashara had bumped into Lyanna in Essos, pregnant, penniless, and on the run from Jon’s father, a married man with whom she’d embarked on a supremely ill-advised affair. When Lyanna had tried to end things, he’d gotten nasty, and she’d had to get out of there in a hurry, with nothing but the clothes on the back and her direwolf for company.

Ashara had smuggled her into Dorne, had been with her every step of the way, up to and including Jon’s birth. It had been Ashara who had named him Jon—something nice and ordinary—Jon Snow, which was about as common a name as you could find. 

When they’d heard that Ned was coming to Sunspear, they knew this was their chance to at least get Lyanna’s son back to her family. Her ex had people monitoring Sunspear, he suspected that’s where she had fled, but he would be hardly expecting an ordinary tourist who’d had tickets for months to be smuggling out his child.

“And you expected me to leave Lyanna here alone?!” Ned spluttered.

“She wouldn’t be alone, she has me,” Ashara snapped back, hands on her hips.

Oh. Ohhhhhh.

“Hot,” Robert breathed behind him, and Jaime smacked him in the back of the head.

It wouldn’t be forever, just for a couple years until the heat died down. And Ned had agreed, he’d promised, Ashara’s gorgeous violet eyes began to shimmer with tears.

“Of course, I would do anything for Lyanna. And Jon,” Ned said firmly. “But I NEED to see my sister. More so now than ever.” 

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Robert said after a beat. “You’ll go to the duel at midnight. It’ll be done by what, one? The brunch is at eleven? Then we’ll get in the car and haul ass for Riverrun.”

“It’s a fifteen hour drive, Robert,” Ned sighed. “I really appreciate that you’re trying to help, but it can’t be done.”

“Not the way you drive,” Robert smirked. “And that’s why we’ll be taking the Dragon.”

“Come again?” Oberyn cocked his head.

“You don’t understand how fast these things go, Ned. Distance is like meaningless with one of these bad boys. And look Martell, you were the one who pissed off Yronwood. It’s YOUR fault that Lyanna got kidnapped in the first place. So you will let us take the Dragon.”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” Ned bit his lip. “Oberyn obviously has to be at the duel, Robert obviously can’t be.”

“He can come with me to access my cache,” Harry put in. “A couple more strong backs wouldn’t be amiss.”

“So let’s say Robert, Stannis, Jaime and Thoros go with Harry, and Beric you come with me, Arthur and Oberyn,” Ned plotted out slowly. “As soon as you have the cache, meet us at Orphan’s Cove and we’ll take the Dragon from there. One of you guys leaving tomorrow morning will need to get the ring back from the pawn shop tomorrow.”

“What do I do?” Mace asked timidly.

“Stay in the car and mind the baby,” Jaime snapped. Because honestly. It was a Robert plan fused with a Harry plan fused with an Oberyn plan. It wasn’t a question so much of what would go wrong as when. And how badly.


	36. Robert (Vice and Wish 11 of 12)

Robert had always wanted to be part of a stealth mission. People thought because he was big he couldn’t be stealthy. And it wasn’t true!! He just hadn’t had many opportunities to PROVE he could be stealthy, which was different. The closest he had come was back in high school, when they had rigged the school elections. Except his part in the scheme had been stupid. He’d just sat there and pretended to count votes while Beric and Stannis swapped the ballots out. So lame.

This was the real deal. He was wearing black jeans and a black sweatshirt that Stannis had somehow thought to pack for him. He’d put his camo war paint on, even though Stannis, Jaime and Thoros had all declined to join him. They were driving Beric’s Jeep to Harry‘s cache, which meant Stannis was driving while Harry gave directions from the passenger seat. (Robert wondered if Beric knew that Stannis had a totally epic history of car sex.)

That left him, Jaime and Thoros sitting in the back. The car went around a right turn, and recalling a moment from childhood, Robert launched himself into Jaime who then slid helplessly into Thoros, smashing him against the glass.

“Oops,” Robert sang. Thoros rubbed his head, glaring.

The car went around a left turn, and with a joyful war cry Thoros hurled himself into Jaime who then slid into Robert. Robert caught himself with a forearm before he hit the glass, only for Thoros to brace his feet against the car door and push harder.

“Nooo!” Robert shouted dramatically, as his face inched closer to his the pane.

“Nnnngh,” Thoros grunted as he twisted in his seatbelt, trying to get more leverage.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jaime sighed, half in Robert’s lap and face shoved directly into his armpit.

“We’re here!” Harry announced cheerfully, as they pulled up to a security door that appeared to open a tunnel straight into the rocks of a cliff. He hopped out and entered the code, the door sliding noiselessly open.

“And we just drive straight in?” Stannis squinted into the darkness. Harry had insisted they drive without headlights—he didn’t know if the people tracking him (Interpol or bounty hunters) knew about this cache, and didn’t want to draw attention if they were watching it. So he’d swapped out their license plate with another car’s and they were driving in the pitch black. Stealthily.

“Yup, go slow, it’s about half a mile,” Harry answered.

Robert fairly bounced on his seat in anticipation. Harry was just the coolest! He always thought if he had been born a thousand years ago he would have been a sell sword for the Golden Company.

The oppressive blackness of the tunnel quieted what conversation there had been to find, and it was with some relief when they finally reached another door, this one clearly for people rather than cars, the white paint feebly standing out in the dark.

Harry led them over and entered another passcode, and the door opened soundlessly. Once inside, he fumbled for a light switch as the four of them huddled together. It took an agonizingly long time to find it, but then, click by click, the lights began to illuminate. Starting above them and then moving outward, a vast cavern came into view.

Renly was the one who was good with all the old movies and Stannis was the one who was good with all the old books. If Robert had to describe it, he would have said that it was maybe like the cave in Aladdin? The one with the piles of gold and jewels and those fancy carpets everywhere you stepped?

“How much does being a crime lord pay?!” Jaime Lannister breathed, and Robert was fairly sure that Jaime had never been impressed by anything in his life.

“As I said, I like my wealth mobile,” Harry smirked. “I’m going to get some of the specialty items. Bobby, you and your brother start bagging up the gold. Lannister, you take the jewels. Remember, go for the emeralds first. Thoros, load things in the car as they’re ready and if you steal anything else that belongs to me, they’ll be fishing your body out of the ocean three days from now. Are we all set?”

“So set,” Robert promised, as Thoros edged toward the exit.

Harry wanted them to be in and out in thirty minutes, which suited Robert just fine. He was hoping to get back to Orphan’s Cove in time to catch “his” duel with Edgar Yronwood. And maybe be present for rescuing his ex-girlfriend and watching her make out with Ned’s ex-girlfriend. He wondered if it had occurred to Ned that he had slept with someone who had slept with someone who had slept with Robert. Eskimo brothers!!!

As it turned out, it was kind of a long thirty minutes. Gold was really heavy. And Stannis was not helping things.

“Pivot,” Stannis was saying, as they tried to turn a particularly cumbersome duffel bag around a corner. “Pivot.”

Robert glared, and yanked the duffel bag hard. It lurched free, and Stannis staggered to avoid falling flat on his face.

“Watch it,” Jaime scolded. “Do you think Brienne would like these?” He showed them some enormous sapphire earrings.

“He’s so whipped,” Robert told Stannis once they were out of earshot.

“Kind of embarrassing,” Stannis agreed.

“But like, do you think we were supposed to get presents while we were here?”

“I mean I didn’t think so but if Lannister’s doing it...”

“Right! You don’t want to be in a situation where you’re the asshole who didn’t get something...”

Harry had been extracting certain canvases from their frames and rolling them up for ease of transport. Robert looked blankly at an old-timey portrait of a stocky black bearded nobleman. It kind of reminded him of something out of the Lannisters’ portrait gallery. The man was scowling. Robert wondered if he’d had to scowl like that the entire time the portrait was being painted. You’d think your face would hurt after a while right? Maybe the artist had been fucking his wife, but it was too late to switch artists so he’d just been stuck there staring at the guy. That’d probably be worth scowling for. 

“Robert! Stop spacing out, we’re leaving!” Jaime snapped.

The Jeep was considerably more full on the way home, due to the many duffel bags of Harry’s cache that they’d managed to cram in. 

“So I’ve wired the money to Lorch,” Harry announced after a few minutes on his phone. “Who’s getting the money to reclaim your engagement ring?”

“Beric and Thoros are driving home tomorrow morning, Stannis and Jaime are flying home tomorrow morning…” Technically this morning, seeing as it was 12:45. “I think it’s gotta be Oberyn or Mace,” Robert frowned.

“So Oberyn,” Stannis said from the front. Robert did not disagree.

Driving to Orphan’s Cove was actually much quicker, largely because Stannis was allowed to drive with headlights. 

And yet, as the Jeep pulled up, Robert was disappointed to see that the fight was already over. Lyanna wasn’t even making out with Ashara! She was holding the baby and talking to Ned, apart from the crowd. Arthur, Ashara, Oberyn, Mace and Beric were drinking beers on the sand, so Robert led his group over to them.

“How’d it go??” He said cheerfully.

“Well I won,” Arthur toasted him. “Congrats on your victory.”

“And Lyanna was okay?”

“Oh she was fine. She’d been mounting escape attempts all day, but the Yronwood estate is on a cliff of like sheer rock. They kept finding her and dragging it back. Honestly I think Edgar was relieved to be rid of her,” Oberyn laughed.

“Well what about the fight?” Robert asked hopefully. “Was it cool? Did you get it on video?”

“I tried,” Ashara pouted and handed him her phone.

“It’s so dark!” Robert frowned. “You can barely make out what’s going on! How did Arthur and Yronwood even see what they were doing?!”

“Well hold on, it gets a little better once Beric walks over,” Ashara said. “He used one of Yronwood’s spares and lit in on fire. Did you know that mace is flammable? He just coated the blade and the whoosh! We could sort of tell what was happening.”

“Wait...” Thoros abruptly joined the conversation. “He DID WHAT?!”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Beric winced. 

“YOU MADE A FIRE SWORD WITHOUT ME?!”

“Oh wow, yeah that’s a lot better,” Robert studied the screen. He handed it back to Ashara. He still thought it would have been more exciting if more people had died. That was stupid first blood duels for you. Speaking of which...

“Where’s Yronwood?” Robert asked. He was a little surprised the guy hadn’t hung around. Had a beer or something.

“Oh, he got some alert to his phone about his underground vault being accessed, he just wanted to go check it out.”

“Ah,” Harry Strickland said, abruptly joining the conversation. “In that case, I think everybody who came with me should leave now.”

“We’ve got like ten minutes, I want to hear about your new girlfriend,” Robert protested, winking at Ashara. She rolled her eyes. Funny, that had been Lyanna’s typical reaction. Awwww maybe they were soulmates!

“Right,” Harry nodded. “Completely understandable. But the thing is, that cache we just visited?”

“Visited stealthily,” Robert added proudly.

“Quite right, very stealthily. Only maybe not quite stealthily enough, since Yronwood got that notification.”

“Wait,” Jaime butted in. “Are you saying we BURGLED Yronwood?!”

“Well no, technically only I burgled him, because the rest of you didn’t know what you were doing. I remember thinking you should have spent more time listening to your friend Beric’s explanation, but of course at the time I didn’t know you very well so I didn’t want to say anything—“

“You said it was your cache!” Thoros blurted. “You said you’d kill me if I took any of your stuff!”

“Listen chaps, I’m sorry you feel misled, but I’ve already wired Lorch and Oberyn your share. Also you know, I feel like I’ve given you very few reasons to think I’m a trustworthy person. So perhaps you’ve all learned a valuable lesson in judging a man’s character? Now if you’ll just help me move everything on to the beach,” Harry produced his gun and waved it at them and then to the trunk of Beric’s car.

“I knew something was going to go wrong with this plan,” Jaime shouted. 

“Start moving my cache,” Harry repeated in a very calm voice that was belied by him cocking the gun. Suddenly there was a general stamped to get the duffel bags onto the beach. Robert drifted toward Beric’s truck.

“Oh not you, don’t be silly, it’s your stag party,” Harry said genially. 

“Okay,” Robert said uncertainly, as he watched Arthur and Thoros stagger by with a crate of artwork.

Wait a minute...

“Does this mean you can’t come to my wedding?!” Robert blurted.

There was the sound of a motorboat approaching, and a very familiar figure woman standing at the helm.

“Captain Sara!” Oberyn exclaimed delightedly, dropping his box.

“I’m terribly sorry, Bobby, you know I would have loved to have made it,” Harry hugged him, the gun digging in to his ribs uncomfortably. 

Then he was striding over to the boat, helping Sara drag it ashore.

“As I said, everybody who helped me should really be leaving now,” Harry called to the others over his shoulder.

“Well I guess Beric can drive Thoros and Jaime back to Oldtown in his Jeep, and Ned and I can drop off Stannis in King’s Landing on the way to Riverrun?” Robert puzzled it out.

“Don’t forget Jon,” Lyanna kissed her baby on the forehead before she handed him to Ned, wiping away a tear.

“It’s only for a while until the heat dies down,” Ashara wrapped her arms around Lyanna from behind. 

“I suppose I can give you and Mace a lift,” Arthur was saying to Oberyn. 

“It’ll be so cramped with Ashara and Lyanna as well, you take Mace and I’ll find my own way back,” Oberyn winked, moving toward the boat to help Harry load his ill-gotten gains.

“So what, you’re saying that it’s too dangerous for me to do it but the moment my back is turned you’ll go off and do it yourself?!” Thoros was grumbling at Beric.

“Am I going to have to listen to this all the way back to Oldtown?” Jaime groaned.

“Probably,” Beric sighed.

Robert inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of sea air, the sounds of his friends arguing and laughing together, the starry sky above them. Then he looked down and his gaze fell on the 1962 Rhoynish Dragon.

“Cute kid,” he commented off-handed to Lyanna Stark.

“Congratulations on the wedding, it’s been all over the papers down here,” Lyanna smiled. 

“You better take care of her,” Robert told Ashara. “She’s my favorite ex-girlfriend.”

“I’ll try,” Ashara laughed, and Lyanna spun in her arms and kissed her.

Hot. So fucking hot.

“C’mon Neddy,” Robert dragged Ned away from them, as he was looking slightly ill. “We’ve got a family brunch to get to.”

They got in, Ned checked that the car seat was properly secure, and began to pull out.

“I can’t help but feel like we’re missing something,” Ned frowned. Robert blinked.

“Oh shit, Stannis!”

Five minutes later, once they had wrestled Stannis’ enormous suitcase into the not very large trunk of the Dragon, they were ready. Robert pressed down the accelerator and the car lurched forward with a roar. Such speed! Such power! It felt like flying.

They were already out of Sunspear, heading north on the interstate, Stannis and Jon sound asleep in the back, when Ned looked over.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Sorry?” Robert frowned. “Sorry about what?”

“Your whole stag party got ruined! Mace drugged us, Oberyn got us in all sorts of trouble, Jaime got kidnapped, my sister got kidnapped AND left her baby with us, you got blackmailed, we lost the ring... nothing went right at all!”

Robert laughed.

“I had a stag party in a palace in Dorne! We solved mysteries, I won a fight against ARTHUR DAYNE, I went to a hostage negotiation, tracked down a blackmailer, participated in a heist, and kind of sort of won a duel! Your hot sister is banging your smoking hot ex and they kissed right in front of me! I’m driving a Dragon! There’s only three left in the entire world! You’re going to be telling Jon about this some day, how he rode in a Dragon!”

“Wait, you’re saying...”

Robert tipped back his head.

“BEST! STAG! EVER!!!!!”

“I’m glad somebody’s happy,” Ned chuckled ruefully. “I’m fairly concerned about my father’s reaction when I show up with my sister’s love child. Let alone Hoster Tully’s.”

“More heat off you, right? Did Lyanna get into it at all?”

“Just that he was an abusive prick who threatened to fight her for custody when she tried to leave. Lyanna,” Ned sighed and rubbed his face. “She hasn’t always made the best choices but she deserves a lot better than some of the shit that’s happened to her, you know?”

“Yeah I get it,” Robert admitted. “But she has Ashara now. They seem pretty happy. Maybe this is when things start going her way.”

“I hope so,” Ned yawned. “Gods, I hope so.”

“Don’t you fall asleep on me,” Robert warned. “It sucks being the driver when everyone else is asleep.”

“Ugh you’re right. Okay, I know you think it was the best stag ever—“

“Because IT WAS!”

“—but if you could have done one more thing, what would you have wanted to do?” 

Robert thought for a minute.

“I would have wanted someone to get photos at the strip club!”

Ned laughed.

“Be serious!”

“I am serious! It was my last chance to drool over other women, and I don’t remember any of it!”

“Well I didn’t want to say anything, but Stannis leant me this extra phone battery he brought for me? It didn’t really work with all the water damage, my phone just turned on and off again, but I guess that was enough for my camera roll to upload to the cloud,” Ned began.

“Wait... are you saying...”

“There appear to be a lot of photos from the strip club,” Ned confirmed drily. “Honestly, at some point we should look at them all ONE TIME and then delete everything.”

“Why would we delete them?! If you have a photo of Mace getting his ass tattooed, I want it framed!”

They joked and talked, and the miles vanished under the Dragon, but try as he might, Ned finally drifted off to sleep. 

That was okay though, Robert thought, watching the sun break over the marches. It was nice to have some time to think too. 

Mace and Oberyn had both been kind of bummed that he was getting married, but he knew that the next adventure would be even better than this one. And he’d probably be able to remember a whole lot more of it. He hoped he’d be a good dad, but nine tenths of that was just showing up for the job right? Even Mace seemed like he was a pretty good dad, and that guy had never been able to do anything right. 

He was pretty sure he could figure it out, and if he didn’t, well Cersei would just tell him what to do.

Daydreaming about cuddling Cersei, finally getting to meet their little biscuit, Robert nearly missed the turn for King’s Landing. 

“Hey, wake up,” he shook Stannis gently. Stannis cracked an eye.

“End of the road. You okay getting the bus home? Give my love to Mel.”

“Wait bus?” Stannis blinked sleepily as he clambered out of the car.

“Yup,” Robert got his bag free with a grunt of effort. “The bus stop is just up that hill. Sorry buddy, I’ve gotta get Ned to this thing on time, I can’t drive you any further.”

“Hill?” Stannis’ face fell as he looked at his enormous suitcase and back at the hill.

“Oh it looks like you lost the wheel on that thing, by the way, you should get it replaced!” Robert waved and got back in the car.

Okay, half an hour to go, and they were about forty-five miles away. Robert cracked his knuckles.

He pulled back out onto the main highway and merged with the other cars. He’d thought he was a good wingman before, but wow, he was on fire.

He glared at a car that had cut him off. Asshole. Didn’t that guy know he had somewhere to be? It was a Riverlands plate too. Actually... Robert rubbed his eyes as he pulled into the lane next to it. That was Hoster Tully’s car!!!

“Ned,” he prodded his friend awake.

“Mmm?” Ned responded sleepily.

“Here, take the wheel for a second,” Robert tugged his arm onto it.

“Wait what?!” Ned protested, frantically trying to sit upright so he could see over the dashboard.

Robert rolled down his window and started frantically unbuckling his belt.

“What are you doing?!” Ned yelped. “You can’t piss out the window!”

“That’s not what I’m doing and false, I totally can, I do it all the time,” Robert grinned, pulling down his pants. “Now hold us steady.”

He slammed on the accelerator and twisted to hang his ass out the window. To top it off, he gave a loud three honks on the horn.

There was a responding honk and Robert withdrew, guffawing to see in the rear view mirror that the car had pulled over.

“Who did you just moon?!” Ned hissed.

“Awwww don’t worry about it,” Robert ruffled his hair. “It’s not like anybody recognizes us in this car anyway.”


	37. Catelyn (Vice and Wish 12 of 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Author’s Note!!! I unfortunately have to pause my updates to give me time to finish the next (and last) arc. I considered pausing earlier when it became clear that work was hampering my writing schedule, but this seemed like such a good spot to leave you all. The last arc is nine chapters, of which I have written six and am part way through the seventh, so hopefully this pause won’t be more than a couple weeks. And now the long awaited brunch :)

Catelyn woke in bed in her family’s summer home in Riverrun, her sister snuggled under the covers inches away. She smiled—hadn’t that always been the way when they were younger? Promising to stay in their own beds and then sneaking out for sleepovers as soon as their mother’s back was turned?

Granted, when they were younger, Lysa typically didn’t fall asleep wearing a very dirty thrift store wedding dress. Was that cheese-whiz down the front?

Catelyn realized she was also still wearing her thrift store wedding dress and that she should probably take a shower and then take Robb off her saint of an uncle’s hands.

Once in the shower, some of the tranquility and coziness of waking up in her old bedroom faded. She recalled her bravado from last night and cringed. Hear me roar indeed.

Since she had left on this thrice-damned family holiday—no earlier than that, since the wedding, no since the PROPOSAL, she had been walking on eggshells around her father. She had always been her father’s favorite, she knew that, and she was so desperately certain that there was a way to make him okay with the man she loved. But at every turn things had gotten worse not better. Had Ned been part of the problem? Well punching her father in the face had certainly not helped, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d more or less made him a stranger from his family all summer and he had been understanding and supportive every step of the way.

In return, trusting what they had built together over the last two years seemed like the very least she could do.

But then she thought of her senior year, at that party Robert had thrown, where Ned had kissed Ashara Dayne during spin the bottle and she’d spent the entire evening crying in the bathroom. And Catelyn felt cold and clammy and like she might want to throw up.

That’s what you get for eating a plate of loaded nachos from a pub called Murfees, Catelyn told herself grimly. Not to mention drinking all that beer. Ugh, not a story to share with her mommy group back in Winterfell. 

Did the thought of Ned and Ashara together trigger all sorts of stupid high school anxieties that she’d thought buried and gone forever? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But that didn’t change the fact that it was Ned and she loved him and trusted him. They’d been together for years before they’d been married, had freely chosen each other above all others, had a foundation of a million shared experiences and laughs and tears. No stupid spiteful rumor was going to change that.

Catelyn stopped scrubbing the shampoo into her scalp and stood up straighter. Like she’d said at the bar, she was done playing the dutiful daughter, done trying to accommodate everyone and done trying to be so fucking deferential to everyone’s feelings but her own.

She found her uncle in the kitchen playing with Robb in the playpen.

“Was that you girls I heard coming home last night so late?” Brynden Tully teased, as Robb saw her and his whole face lit up.

“Mama!!” He fought free of his great-uncle’s grasp to toddle toward her.

“Oof,” Catelyn smiled as he collided with her full speed.

“He reminds me of Edmure at that age. No idea where he’s going but in a hurry to get there,” Brynden shook his head.

“Thank you so much for looking after him,” Catelyn pressed a kiss to the crown of her son’s head. “I thought it was going to be one night and then home early, but things... well escalated.”

She flushed as she again flashed on her and Lysa doing drunken karaoke on a bar top.

“I was happy to do it, Cat. You know I think it’s good for you to get some me time,” Brynden affectionately tugged at his niece’s still damp hair.

“Where is daddy?” Catelyn asked.

“Took off yesterday afternoon to play golf with Jon Arryn in King’s Landing. I guess they went out for drinks after and he was nervous about driving so decided to crash there. Looks like you weren’t the only one who needed some me time,” her uncle rolled his eyes. “You should really know better than to try and keep us under the same roof for extended periods.”

Catelyn let out a small sigh of relief even as she tried to smile at Uncle Brynden’s joke. If Jon Arryn had successfully kept him away from the gossip mill, that was one disaster averted.

“Anything wrong?” Brynden asked, arching an eyebrow at Catelyn knowingly.

“Just the usual drama with Daddy and Ned. Sometimes I get why you ran off,” Catelyn admitted.

“As I recall, I ran off to avoid a wedding, not have one,” Brynden chuckled. “Your father has never met an opinion worth considering over his own.”

“That’s not fair,” Catelyn protested tepidly but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Just because he loves you doesn’t mean he has the faintest idea what’s best for you,” Brynden said firmly. “Now since you’re up, I think this is my cue to leave.”

“You won’t stay for brunch?” Catelyn shot him her best puppy dog expression.

“If I leave now, this will be the first weekend I’ve spent with my brother in ten years that didn’t dissolve into an argument,” Brynden said. “I would do anything for you and Lysa and little Robb here, but there are some things you really shouldn’t ask of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Catelyn said sheepishly. “It’s just going to be dismal.”

“Chin up, Cat. I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge,” Brynden smiled.

Catelyn waved goodbye, and then set about getting herself and Robb dressed and ready. Having accomplished that, she realized her two siblings were still sound asleep with no sign of her father. Rolling her eyes, she went to turn Lysa and Edmure out of bed.

“I thought I’d be sadder about Petyr,” Lysa confided as she stretched her arms. “But I feel like there was a huge weight on my stomach and it’s finally been lifted.”

“Don’t you mean your shoulders,” Catelyn teased, to try and not think about Petyr and his smirking face coming toward her. Gods she missed Ned.

“No I mean my stomach,” Lysa said seriously. “I felt it right in here,” she poked her gut.

“Well just in time to eat brunch then. Now here, take Robb and get him into his car seat. Daddy texted and said he and Jon would meet us at brunch. And Edmure’s still in the shower and we should have left five minutes ago.”

They were fifteen minutes late to the restaurant, but only Rickard and Benjen Stark had gotten there before them.

“Let me see my grandson!” Rickard boomed, and lifted Robb from Catelyn’s arms. Catelyn looked around, but there was nobody else in the private room she’d reserved to eliminate outside stressors like people who objected to high chairs and the occasional temper tantrum.

“Where’s Brandon?” She asked Benjen quietly.

“He called to say he wasn’t coming... He and Barbrey had a HUGE fight last night,” Benjen pulled a face. Catelyn swallowed, thinking of the text Cersei had sent.

“Where is Ned?” She asked hopefully.

“Not here yet—I called him a couple times but his cell doesn’t seem to be working,” Benjen replied. Catelyn twisted her hands uncomfortably. Should she have stoped Cersei from sending that text? She wished Ned were here, she needed to find out what had actually happened with Ashara. He was still coming wasn’t he?

There the squeal of tires and the crunch of gravel from outside and the road of an impossibly loud engine.

“What is that?!” Rickard frowned.

“I’ll check,” Catelyn assured her father in law.

A gleaming emerald convertible was parked in front. Ned, wearing an exceptionally wrinkled shirt was clambering out of the front, as Robert Baratheon handed him...

A child.

Catelyn, who had been half way out the door, mid stride to hurl herself into Ned’s arms, stopped short. Ned took the baby, said something to Robert who was grinning, and then turned and saw her silhouetted in the doorframe and froze.

Catelyn swallowed, aware that she was trembling like a leaf.

“Cat!” Ned covered the ground between them in an instant, kissing her temple, the boy in his arms a familiar impediment between them. Familiar and not familiar. Because this was not her boy.

“Is it true?” She blurted.

“True?” Ned gave her a puzzled smile.

She looked down at the baby.

“Oh! Cat, meet our nephew. Jon Snow.”

Her knees buckled and she sat down on the steps.

“Woah! Are you okay, hang on,” Ned carefully put Jon down and sat next to her, pressing his hand to her forehead even as his other hand found her own. “You feel clammy, are you sick?”

Catelyn gave him a tremulous smile. Nephew. Nephew. She could breathe.

“Everyone’s saying that you and Ashara had a baby,” she mumbled, leaning into his hand. “Cersei said it was nonsense, that it had to be Ashara and Brandon, and I believed her of course, but then when I saw you with him—why did you bring a baby to brunch? Why do you even have him??”

“Cat, Jon isn’t Brandon’s,” Ned took a deep breath.

“What?” Catelyn frowned, twisting to face him.

“He’s Lyanna’s.”

“Oh,” Catelyn looked down at the boy who was blinking back at her, with Lyanna’s dark hair and somebody else’s dark eyes.

“And the father?”

“Not in the picture. He was married, and from all accounts, a nasty piece of work.”

Catelyn swallowed.

“So you’re bringing your father a surprise grandchild from the daughter he hasn’t heard from in months to a brunch with my father who hates your guts. And Brandon isn’t here to play peacemaker because Cersei might have told a lot of people that he had a baby with Ashara and it got back to Barbrey...”

“Well when you put it like that,” Ned’s shoulders slumped and they sat side by side on the steps outside the restaurant, the two of them and their surprise nephew.

“Maybe Daddy will be in a good mood from playing golf all day yesterday,” Catelyn offered.

“Robert mooned him on the drive here,” Ned sighed. “He seemed quite peeved.”

There was a pause as Catelyn rested her head on Ned’s shoulder.

“We’ll get through this right?” Ned squeezed her hand.

“We will,” Catelyn said firmly. “Together.”

Hoster Tully entered some ten minutes later in a rare head of steam, towing a tired looking Jon Arryn, and practically spitting nails. If he noticed that Rickard Stark was looking decidedly unwell, he did not say anything.

“What is wrong with this generation?!” Hoster bellowed without preamble.

“Hi Daddy,” Lysa tried to give him a hug only to be brusquely shoved toward Jon Arryn who caught her and gave her a shy kiss on the cheek.

“You will not believe what just happened to me! On the highway, I was mooned!”

“Oh that’s terrible,” Catelyn said soothingly, hurriedly gesturing at the waiter to pour some wine. “It must have been very startling.”

“I knew that ass!” Hoster shouted.

There was a silence as Benjen Stark let out a stifled snort of laughter.

“Hoster thinks it’s the person who mooned him during the club championships ten years ago,” Jon Arryn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I KNOW IT WAS! I would recognize those bare buttocks anywhere!” Hoster snapped, draining the wine in one go.

“Got a good look did you?” Benjen snickered, and Ned shot him a glare.

“I did!” Hoster said, oblivious to Benjen’s innuendo. “I was teeing off on the eighteenth hole, tied with Jonos Bracken for the lead. And you know how that man cracks under pressure,” he added in an aside to Jon and Rickard. “And then, right as I had taken my practice swing and had set up to the ball, I saw it!”

“He’s referring to the butt,” Jon Arryn, who had clearly heard this story many times, sighed.

“Bare and pale, almost luminous! Shining at me from the crowd! I looked away, I tried to focus on the golf ball, but it was too late! It was in my head!”

“He shanked his drive, had to take a penalty stroke and lost by two,” Jon Arryn rolled his eyes, bringing the story to an abrupt end.

“And then I had to get back surgery that winter! I never got my golf game back! That was my last chance to win the championship!” Hoster harrumphed, clearly displeased at having the punchline spoiled.

“You don’t know that it was the same ass,” Jon Arryn said.

“You were driving! You didn’t see it! I— seven hells, why are there two of them?” Hoster abruptly trailed off, having noticed for the first time that there were now two high chairs at the table, and two black haired little boys blinking at him.

“This is Jon, Daddy,” Catelyn said brightly as if the situation were perfectly normal. “Lyanna’s son.”

“I was not aware that Lyanna was er, married,” Hoster’s brow knitted as he shot a look at Rickard.

“She isn’t,” the Stark patriarch said stiffly, the first words he’d spoken in some time.

“This fucking generation,” Hoster glowered at all of them.

“Do you have something to say about my daughter?” Rickard growled, and Catelyn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Even Benjen stopped snickering.

“I was thinking of getting the eggs Benedict!” Lysa blurted and Catelyn shot her a grateful look.

“That’s my favorite too!” Jon Arryn beamed at her.

“I’ll get the trout I suppose, although I doubt it’ll be anywhere NEAR as big as the one I caught up river from here...” Edmure launched into one of his fly fishing stories.

Catelyn allowed her shoulders to drop ever so slightly as the conversation merrily spun away from anything remotely resembling controversy.

The food came, and Catelyn busied herself getting the children set up for their own meal. Jon had his cousin’s appetite, she thought ruefully. Thank goodness she’d brought extra formula.

Hoster Tully had even commented approvingly on how well-behaved Robb had been all weekend (as if he hadn’t ditched him with his brother to play golf yesterday) when disaster struck.

There was a chime of a text from a phone. Hoster’s phone.

Her father reached for it.

“There‘s no cell phone usage allowed here,” Jon Arryn tried, but like a slow motion train wreck, Hoster waved him off and touched the screen.

“Why it’s Petyr Baelish,” Hoster frowned. “What on earth is he doing texting me?”

“Don’t Daddy—“ Lysa began as Catelyn stood, wondering frantically if she could get across the room to slap it out of his hand.

“Tell me Eddard,” Hoster said, and his voice matched Rickard’s earlier growl in intensity thought it was louder. “Why did I just get a text saying that Jon is your son?”

“Don’t listen to Petyr!” Lysa protested. “He’s just mad because I told him we through yesterday because I’m dating Jon!”

“Excuse me?” Hoster said slowly.

“I was, um, going to mention that at some point,” Jon Arryn scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“You’re dating my daughter?!” Hoster sputtered, turning on him. Jon held his hands up.

“I admit this is poor timing, but that’s why I was going to wait to tell you! I didn’t think you’d be upset, only a month ago you were trying to set me up!”

“With Cat! I was trying to set you up WITH CAT!”

“Are you saying you were trying to undermine my son’s marriage?!” Rickard stood up. “I’ve put up with a lot of shit from you Hoster, but this is one step too far!”

“FIRST,” Hoster wheeled on Rickard, “forgive me for thinking Cat could do better. Your son is an ambitionless hack who cheats on her! And SECOND,” he turned back to Jon before a Rickard could respond, “I wasn’t trying to set you up Lysa because she has her whole life ahead of her! Cat’s the one with limited options!”

Catelyn stood up, her face burning with something close to fury.

“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is damaged goods, Daddy,” she sneered.

“That—that’s not what I meant at all,” her father backpedaled.

“Isn’t it? Because you’ve taken every opportunity I’ve given you to bury the hatchet and twisted in and tried to undermine my marriage. MY FAMILY. Well I’ve had it. I’m done. This was your last chance. So before you shit on Lysa’s life too, maybe you should consider that you’re down to your last daughter. Ned, call Robert and have him pick us up. We’re leaving.”

“Um I don’t know that—“

“NOW!”

“Right, calling Robert,” Ned blurted, almost dropping his phone when he realized it didn’t work.

“Here,” Jon Arryn sighed and handed him his own.

“And for the fucking record,” Catelyn snarled at her father, “Ned has never cheated on me in his life.”

“Hi Robert, sorry to wake you up,” Ned said on the phone. “Can you pick me and Cat and the kids up? Like right now?”

“Catelyn, this is highly unnecessary,” Hoster blustered. Ned shot a hopeful look at Cat.

“It is in fact necessary. Some might say it is long overdue,” Catelyn said tightly as she loaded up Robb’s things.

“You belong with us! Not with this... this... pack of wolves!”

Hoster Tully might have said more, but that was when Rickard Stark punched him in the face.

When Robert pulled up to meet them some fifteen minutes later, Ned and Catelyn were waiting for him in the driveway to the restaurant, each with a dark haired boy in their arms.

“That was fast,” Ned commented. Robert shrugged.

“I just pulled over down the road to take a nap before I drove back to Oldtown. I take it brunch went... less than swimmingly?”

“Please take us to the airport, Robert,” Catelyn said curtly as she buckled little Jon into his car seat. “I have purchased us tickets on the first flight back to Winterfell.”

“Ouch,” Robert winced.

“Indeed,” Catelyn growled.

“Catelyn, can you hurry up?” Ned asked, already done buckling in Robb. “We need to get out of here before...”

“Cat! WAIT!” A much worse for the wear Hoster staggered out of the restaurant. And then he froze.

“That’s the car!”

“Oh no,” Ned breathed, as Catelyn finished her work and shut the car door after her.

“Shit get in Ned,” Robert slid down in his seat, trying to evade Hoster Tully’s glare.

“THAT’S THE CAR THAT MOONED ME!”

“Gas Robert!” Ned slammed his own door.

Robert frantically slammed his foot down, and the car lurched in reverse across the parking lot.

“IF YOU CRASH THIS CAR WITH THESE CHILDREN IN IT I WILL KILL YOU!” Catelyn threw her arms protectively across both of them.

Across the parking lot, Hoster roared and began to charge.

“HE’S CHASING US!” Ned shouted. “GO GO GO!”

Robert frantically changed gears, and then they surged forward and out toward the exit, missing Hoster Tully’s outstretched arms by inches.

“BLINKER!”

“GO!”

“MIXED MESSAGES!”

The car swung out on to the empty road and then there was a moment of silence as the car sped away and they all simultaneously exhaled.

Catelyn cautiously looked over her shoulder.

“Have we lost him?” Robert asked.

“He’s gone,” Catelyn confirmed, checking that both boys were still buckled in. They were smiling, completely placidly, as if high pressure escapes from her father were all great fun.

“To the airport,” Robert shouted cheerfully and Ned whooped. Catelyn allowed a smile to cross her face.

“It’s over,” she said, feeling as if she’d run a marathon. “Finally, we can go home.”

“Well for two weeks,” Robert added. Catelyn’s eyes opened.

“Two weeks?” She repeated slowly.

“You’re coming back down for the wedding!”

Right. The wedding.


	38. Jaime (Shotgun! 1 of 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the best readership out there!!! I feel terrible that I made you all wait as long as I did but the story is DONE and I will be posting on Monday and Thursday to see it out. Special thanks to everybody who reached out to say hi during my four month hiatus... End of year is a stressful time work wise and it was so nice to be reminded that I have far flung friends all across the interwebs :)

Jaime woke up in his childhood bedroom, feeling vaguely confused and bereft. Confused because he never the spent the night in his childhood bedroom if a hotel would do. And bereft because he distinctly recalled falling asleep with Brienne’s arms wrapped around him.

They had gotten in last night, late on purpose to avoid running into anyone else, sneaking through the halls whispering and giggling and trying not to wake anyone else up. Then he had pulled her back on his bed with him, and kissed her from her lips down to her navel and then continued down from there until Brienne hadn’t been so very worried about waking anyone else up at all.

But now she was gone, had no doubt gotten up to go with Cersei at some ungodly hour of the morning to get their hair and makeup done for the wedding.

Jaime groaned at the realization. The wedding. The wedding was today.

Just then, there was the burst of static as the intercom across the room lit up.

“Lunch will be on the table for twenty five more minutes before it’s cleared, Master Jaime,” Westerling’s voice announced blandly.

Jaime groaned again, burying his head under his pillow. This was why he stayed in a fucking hotel.

He got down with fifteen minutes remaining on the clock, sitting in his old position at his father’s right hand. He was amused but unsurprised to discover that Tyrion had not commandeered it in his absence, preferring instead to leave an awkward space between Tywin and himself.

“Good morning,” Jaime greeted them.

“You’re late,” Tywin informed him. “And it’s good afternoon.”

“There will never be another good morning again,” Tyrion said dolefully.

Great start. Another reason why he preferred hotels.

“Why so cheery?” He asked Tyrion. “It’s Cersei’s wedding day, not your funeral.”

“I hope that monster chokes on her wedding cake,” Tyrion bit, stabbing a bite of salad gloomily. “Did you know SHE’S the reason Tysha ghosted me?”

Tysha... right, the sommelier from the engagement party. The one he’d told Cersei to take care of.

“...what?!” Jaime tried to sound surprised.

“I KNOW! I hacked into Tysha’s phone to see if she had a boyfriend,” Jaime here made a disapproving noise which Tyrion ignored, “and found some texts to her from my phone which I never sent! She thinks I stood her up! And she didn’t believe me when I tried to explain what happened, and then started asking all these questions about how I knew what texts were on her phone and anyway, it was a whole thing, but the point is Cersei is a psychopath who is trying to control my life!”

“So she intervened to save you from an unsuitable match?” Tywin inquired. Honestly, Jaime was surprised he was even listening. He assumed that their father tuned most of what they said out.

“What she did was stuck her nose where it had no business being!” Tyrion snapped.

“It sounds like she wanted what was best for you,” Tywin objected.

“How would she know what was best for me?!”

“She’s your fa-family! Of course she knows what’s best for you!”

“I’m the one who knows what’s best for me!” Tyrion yelled, slamming his hand down on the table.

“Well it sounds like you weren’t thinking very clearly, and maybe she just wanted to stop you from making a terrible mistake!” Tywin snarled back.

“THEN IT WAS MY MISTAKE TO MAKE! All she’s done is ensure I’ll never be happy and I’ll never forgive her, not until my dying day!”

“Okay, it’s not that bad,” Jaime jumped in, feeling a trifle guilty. After all, he had been the one who set Cersei on the poor girl.

“It is! She was the love of my life! I’ll never have another one, never, and I’ll be miserable until the day I die,” Tyrion slumped in his chair.

“You’re acting like Renly Baratheon,” Jaime rolled his eyes and Tyrion stuck out his tongue. He was just in a snit. He would play some terrible prank on Cersei and be over it in a few weeks.

Jaime’s father, on the other hand, had taken on a distinctly greenish pallor.

“Are you okay?” Jaime asked nervously. What if he was choking on something? Jaime didn’t know the Heimlich. Did Tyrion? And if he did, how would they position their father to allow Tyrion to administer it? Like lying down maybe?

“I’m fine,” Tywin glared at him, wiping some sweat off his brow. “We should be getting ready, Cersei wanted us at the Sept to greet guests an hour beforehand.”

“I can’t believe Cersei is marrying Robert,” Jaime groaned, just to get that off his chest one last time. Tywin flinched.

“I hope he cheats on her,” Tyrion huffed.

“Will you both stop dilly-dallying and get ready?!” Tywin snapped. “If you’re not ready, I WILL leave without you!”

“What’s eating him?” Tyrion asked Jaime as they quickly retreated toward their bedrooms.

Jaime shrugged. Probably the thought of having to spend an entire afternoon and evening faking human emotions like joy.

“He won’t really leave us though?”

“Of course not,” Jaime said. “But, you know, hurry. Just in case.”

Jaime took some small comfort in knowing that as he was not a groomsman, he did not have to wear the terrible pink ties and pocket squares that Cersei had picked out to go with the bridesmaid dresses. For once he’d be better dressed than Renly Baratheon. Not that he was competitive with Brienne’s best friend. Not at all.

All the same, he lingered slightly longer than usual, trying to decide what tie to wear. Green to bring out his eyes or red because Lannister? There was a prolonged honking from the driveway. Green it was.

“So sorry,” Jaime said lightly as he slid into the back next to Tyrion. Tywin grunted from the front.

“So what do you think?” Tyrion asked, with just a hint of mischief in his voice. Jaime glanced over at him wearily. And then turned fully to get a better look.

His tie was... breathtakingly hideous. And loud. Very loud.

“Are those... duckies?” Jaime asked in a strangled tone. Bright yellow duckies against a sort of... burnt orange?

“Yup! Yellow rubber duckies! And look at this,” Tyrion put his hand in his pocket and suddenly their eyes started blinking red. “Now they’re EVIL yellow rubber duckies!”

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jaime said bluntly.

“I know,” Tyrion cackled. “Can you imagine Cersei’s face when I show up to her wedding at the High Sept dressed like this? That’ll teach her to interfere in my life!”

“Forget Cersei, I can’t believe Father is letting you wear that monstrosity,” Jaime shook his head.

“He hasn’t even noticed yet,” Tyrion said gleefully. “I think he had a stroke at breakfast.”

“Shhh!” Jaime waved a hand at him, casting a nervous glance up front.

“He’s not listening to a word we say,” Tyrion shrugged him off.

The car wound its way through the streets of King’s Landing, heading toward Visenya’s Hill. Jaime could already see the Great Sept of Baelor, the white marble shining against the afternoon sun. They would get there around two, the ceremony was scheduled to run from three to four. Then the guests would make their way to the Red Keep via a waiting fleet of cars, which would whisk them to the cocktail hour in the Godswood Botanical Gardens. The cocktail hour would run from four to six (naturally Cersei and Robert’s idea of a cocktail hour ran for two hours), followed by dinner and dancing in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

The entrance to the sept was marked by a massive archway, beyond which a sculpture of Baelor the Blessed stood on a stone plinth.

What the fellow had initially looked like, Jaime couldn’t say, but time and the elements had weathered his face into an expression of resigned and almost saintly patience. He would need it, Jaime thought, for Cersei.

A valet hurried over to the car, ushering Tywin out of the driver’s seat with a deference fit for a king. Jaime rolled his eyes and let himself out before another valet could do the same. Tyrion, in contrast, beamed at the girl helping him out, and made the ducky tie blink at her.

“You’re two minutes late,” Cersei hurried out, in an uncanny impression of their father. Jamie opened his mouth to say something snarky, but then he caught a glimpse of her in her dress and just... couldn’t.

It was a strapless ivory sheath with a sweetheart neckline, covered in delicate white lace flowers, which gave the edges a slightly textured look. The embroidery grew more ornate below the bodice, rippling into a train of embroidered ivy. Her hair was down, as she always liked it best, in tumbling golden curls, and she looked young and sweet and innocent and for a strange second, Jaime thought he might cry.

“Wow,” he said instead.

“I know,” the real Cersei smirked behind this perfect doe-eyed stranger.

“Just shows you can’t judge a book by its cover,” Tyrion snarked. Cersei looked over at him, aloofly disapproving, when she saw his tie.

Jaime could sympathize with the pained expression of puzzlement that crossed her face.

“Is that a... tie?” Cersei finally managed.

“It’s a fuck-you-for-ruining-my-life,” Tyrion beamed back. “Look, it lights up!”

“That will be handy for when they find you dangling by it from the interpass tonight,” Cersei hissed.

“Ty, about time you got here,” their Uncle Gerion ambled out, abruptly interrupting the conversation to talk to their father. “Genna is haggling with a septa over our contribution and I think she might cry.”

“Aunt Genna might cry?” Tyrion asked interestedly.

“Gods no. The septa. Cool tie, my dude.”

“You should see what it does,” Tyrion began.

“I need to talk to my daughter for a minute,” Tywin said stiffly. “And crying septas are not my forte. I would have rather thought they were yours.”

“Touché, but this one’s ugly.”

“Send Uncle Emmon then,” Tyrion grinned and Uncle Gerion gave him a high five.

“Be nice to your sister,” Tywin said tiredly. “Both of you,” he glared suddenly at Tyrion.

“I think he’s noticed the tie,” Tyrion stage whispered to Jaime.

“Where are the bridesmaids,” Jaime asked Cersei hopefully.

“Go through the Maiden’s door and turn right. That’s where everyone’s getting ready,” Cersei said absently.

Jaime left her with father and Tyrion with their uncle and set off.

He heard the giggling before he saw them, turning a corner and then... wow. But in a different way than when he’d seen Cersei. More like, wow that was a lot of pink.

“Jaime!” Brienne stood, her face flushing in a way that it hadn’t since they’d been in high school together. Catelyn and Lysa also looked up, from where they’d been sitting.

“Ladies, you look... lovely,” Jaime managed. Since ‘like flamingoes’ might not be appropriate.

“Oh stuff it,” Catelyn rolled her eyes. “We look like bubblegum monsters.”

“We look like somebody dyed a Sevenmas tree pink and then decided to wear it,” Lysa giggled.

“I’ve never looked so stupid in my life,” Brienne told Jaime glumly.

“You don’t look stupid,” Jaime said firmly. “You just look very um... salmon?”

Brienne raised an eyebrow.

“Where’s Melisandre?” Jaime asked hastily.

“She’s been locked in that closet since she got her dress,” Catelyn nodded her head. “She said she need to make a few alterations.”

“Probably just embarrassed,” Lysa said sagely. “But if we all look stupid, at least we all look stupid together.”

“Nobody looks stupid,” Jaime reiterated. “Brienne, c’mon, let’s take a walk.”

He laced their fingers together and pulled her back toward the main sept.

“You’re sweet to try and rescue me,” Brienne gave him a shy smile. “But I think we’re at the point of no return.”

“I’m not trying to rescue you,” Jaime admitted. “I mean, unless you want me too. I just... I missed you.”

“We spent all night together!” Brienne blushed, though she squeezed his hand.

“And I wish we’d spent all morning together,” Jaime said earnestly.

“It has been too long since we had a weekend to ourselves,” Brienne replied fondly. “I miss it too. Remember that last weekend in Hardhome before Cersei found out about the biscuit?”

“We slept in so late,” Jaime laughed. “There wasn’t even time for brunch.”

“And we’d worked up quite a sweat,” Brienne nudged him.

“You said you were going out for a run...”

“And you said you were going to take a shower and go back to sleep!”

“But instead, I spent the next hour frantically slaving away on a Tyroshi omelette and blueberry muffins for you...”

“And I called the restaurant and got them to make an order for pick up!”

“So we had two brunches,” Jaime finished with a grin, leaning over to brush his lips against hers.

“As I recall we managed to finish both,” Brienne melted him against him. He tried to step even closer, but found his approach rebuffed by the copious layers of pink tulle.

“That usually works,” Jaime frowned.

“It’s better than a chastity belt,” Brienne groaned.

“Hang on,” Jaime smirked and pushed her gently back against the wall. “It’ll take more than some silly dress to stop me.”

“Jaime, it’s the Great Sept of Baelor!”

“Rather thrilling, no?”

“No,” Brienne pushed him off, though her lip twitched.

“Well Hardhome isn’t what I was talking about anyway,” Jaime admitted, twisting to face her so he was still leaning against the wall with one shoulder.

“It’s not?” Brienne frowned, mildly bemused.

“I just meant... I want to spend every morning with you.”

Brienne looked at him, her brilliant blue eyes luminous in the light. He could drown in those eyes and die happy.

“I’m... I’m still in college, Jaime,” Brienne ventured uncertainly.

“I know,” Jaime said hastily. “Not now. Just... someday, you know?”

Brienne truly smiled then, one of the soft smiles that lit up her entire face.

“Someday, I would like that.”

For a brief perfect moment, Jaime savored the thrill of happiness that rushed down his spine.

“Is that an oath wench,” he teased.

“What is it with you and oaths,” Brienne scoffed, crossing her arms.

“I just know you’re a wench of your word,” Jaime kissed her shoulder.

Brienne tried to shrug him off, but he only moved to her neck.

“I hate it when you call me wench,” Brienne sighed as she tipped her head back to give him more access.

“You don’t,” Jaime whispered in her ear. “You love it.”

“I love you,” Brienne turned, cupping his face in her hands so she could kiss him in turn.

“I swear it,” she murmured against his lips.

Jaime stepped back.

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course.”

“So we’re like... engaged to be engaged?”

“Well we can’t actually be engaged,” Brienne shook her head at him. “Can you imagine what Cersei would do if we got engaged AT her wedding?”

“I shudder to think,” Jaime laughed.

“And besides, you don’t have a ring yet.”

“Of course not,” Jaime said quickly, trying not to think of his mother’s ring, sitting quietly in his inside left breast pocket.

“Shall we find the others?” Brienne leaned her head against him.

“If we must. My father was making noises about talking to Cersei. I suppose we should intervene.”

“Imagine that, a father wanting to talk to his daughter on the day of her wedding,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“You say that like he’s JUST a father,” Jaime pushed her.

“What do you think he is?”

“Sociopath? Alien? Artificial intelligence program designed to assimilate with and eventually replace us?”

“You always make him out to be so terrible,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“He is! He is THE WORST!”

A heartily raucous laugh echoed from the courtyard. It sounded like Robert, only louder. Brienne looked at Jaime.

“He is THE SECOND WORST!”

They trudged back to the front. Gerion and Tyrion has vanished, as had Cersei, but in their place was a familiar couple.

Steffon Baratheon was offering a flask to Tywin, beaming and looking like there was no place he’d rather be.

Cassana Baratheon was elegant, refined, coolly composed... wearing a stunning white silk dress. To his sister’s wedding. Cassana Baratheon was wearing a white dress to Cersei’s wedding.

“Jaime, my love!” She saw him over Tywin’s shoulder and swept him up into an airy and insubstantial embrace. “You’ve become such a fine young man, I was just telling your father. And you must introduce me to your... friend.”

From Brienne’s polite grimace of a smile, Jaime could tell that she had been introduced to Cassana Baratheon repeatedly.

“This is my girlfriend, Brienne Tarth. You must know the Tarths, famous sapphire magnates,” Jaime drawled, ignoring Brienne’s warning squeeze of his hand.

“Oh?” Cassana smiled and extended her hand. Jaime could practically see her social Rolodex flipping behind that botoxed mask she called a face.

“She’s a great friend of Renly’s, I’m sure you’ve met her before,” Jaime pressed.

“Oh of course my dear, when was it last?” Cassana asked Brienne lightly.

“Perhaps Robert’s high school graduation, when he gave the speech?” Jaime offered. “Oh that’s right, you weren’t there. Stannis’ graduation then. Did you make that one?”

“Spring is such a busy time for us,” Cassana said apologetically to Brienne.

“Well there’s always Renly. Third time’s charmed,” Jaime bared his teeth in a smile.

“Jaime, weren’t we supposed to check in on the um... flowers?” Brienne offered, grasping at straws to try and lure him away.

“Oh that was at the Red Keep, dear, you’re getting confused,” Jaime said breezily. “Now tell me Cassana, when did you first know Robert and Cersei were in love?”

“Was there a time they weren’t?” Cassana parried. “If you’ll excuse me, I must say hello to your Aunt Darlessa—“

“I would have said the time she almost put his eye out with a pellet gun was a time they were not in love,” Jaime called after her. “Or what about the time he tore the head off her Barbie doll?”

“Jaime!” Brienne stomped on his foot.

“What about the five YEARS he spent madly in love with Lyanna Stark!” Jaime shouted after her.

“Jaime!” Brienne hissed.

Jaime swallowed.

“I’m sorry Brienne, I just don’t like how she treats people. How she treats you. She just got under my...”

“No! Jaime, we don’t have time to waste baiting Cassana Baratheon! We need to warn Cersei! The mother of the groom is wearing WHITE! This is like... defcon five! Code red! Apocalypse now!”

“You’re right,” Jaime frowned. “Of course you’re right. Father!”

Tywin, still engaged in conversation with Steffon, didn’t react.

“Father! Dad!”

Nothing.

“Tywin!”

Tywin turned.

“Hello Brienne,” he said mildly.

“Hello sir,” Brienne looked at her feet.

“Where did Cersei go?” Jaime interjected.

“We were just talking in the gardens, I imagine she’s still there,” Tywin said, turning back to Steffon.

Jaime grabbed Brienne’s hand and they ran toward the gardens.

After a cursory search, it was clear that Cersei had gone.

“I’ll check in with the girls, you ask around with you family,” Brienne took charge. “Let’s meet back at the statue of Baelor in fifteen minutes.”

Jaime nodded, hurrying back toward where the guests were congregating in the entry hall.

Everybody had seen Cersei—that was the problem. Everybody had seen Cersei, just not in the last ten minutes. After many many futile inquiries, Jaime trudged back to the statue.

“Nobody’s seen her,” he told Brienne, frowning.

“I looked everywhere!” Brienne twisted her hands. “None of the other bridesmaids had a clue either! Where could she be??”


	39. Ned (Shotgun! 2 of 12)

Ned woke up in his childhood bed feeling tranquil and happy. The last two weeks had been a hurricane of happy chaos, what with trying to find space in their apartment and their lives for a second child. The good news was that Jon was the calmest sweetest baby Ned had ever encountered. The bad news was that Robb was quickly teaching him all his bad habits. One of the Mormont girls was coming to babysit today, and Ned privately prayed for her sanity.

But what was any of that compared to having Catelyn and Robb back? Even the days felt brighter, somehow, without the constant fear nibbling at the edges of his sanity that he was going to lose everything he loved.

Catelyn had already left early that morning to meet up with the girls and get ready for the wedding. The guys hadn’t made much of a plan—all they had to do was throw on their suits and show up—but Ned still planned to get there early to get the ring back from Mace and make sure Robert didn’t need anything.

In the meantime, he was just as happy to catch up with his father, Benjen and Brandon, who was also staying with his family for the wedding. Naturally, the primary topic of conversation was Lyanna.

“I can’t believe she’s with Ashara,” Benjen shook his head over cereal that morning.

“Stop,” Ned rolled his eyes.

“Ashara Dayne,” Benjen repeated gleefully.

“Yes we get it,” Ned scowled, stabbing his spoon into the milk.

“YOUR Ashara!”

“For the love of the gods will you please stop?!” Ned glared.

“Oh, is it weird for you?” Brandon walked into the kitchen smirking. “Knowing that your younger sibling is fucking your ex?”

“Brandon!” Ned protested, finding himself suddenly outnumbered.

“Get it?” Benjen grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Because Brandon and Cat used to boink!”

“Yes, thank you, I get it!” Ned blushed. 

“Only virgins call it boinking, Benjen,” Brandon rolled his eyes.

“I’ve had sex!” Benjen went red, suggesting the opposite.

“Oh don’t worry, what are you, fourteen?”

“I’m eighteen you dick!”

“Well don’t worry, you’ll get whomever Lyanna passes down to you,” Brandon said serenely.

“What?” Ned laughed. 

“I’ve realized it’s our tradition. I passed Cat on to you, you passed Ashara on to Lyanna. Wonder who she’s going to give to Benjen. Better hope it’s not Robert!”

“Shut up!!” Benjen whined.

“Oooh are you going to stand up and object at the wedding?” Brandon teased. “Say the Lannister girl can’t marry him, he’s yours by Stark family law.”

“Stoooop!”

“As best man, I cannot condone such behavior,” Ned pretended to take Brandon’s suggestion seriously. “He’ll have to choose someone else.”

“Who else is there?” Brandon pretended to think. “Rhaegar’s dead, that wasteoid over in Essos is already married...”

“Howland Reed,” Ned provided triumphantly with a smirk. “They dated in third grade. She beat up some bullies who were teasing him and he gave her a ring pop.”

“Good family, the Reeds,” Brandon nodded seriously.

“I hate you guys,” Benjen slid down in his seat.

“And he’s a northerner. You’d still be in the neighborhood!”

“Where’s Barbrey,” Benjen asked, in a patently obvious attempt to change the conversation from his impending romance with Howland Reed.

“Barbrey is a delightful girl but I feel our time together has run its course,” Brandon began, a trifle pompously.

“She dumped you, didn’t she?” Benjen asked drily.

“Not in those words. Or any words really. But I assumed as much when she keyed ‘Brandon Stark has a tiny cock’ across the hood of my car,” Brandon admitted.

“Oh wow, Brandon, I’m so sorry,” Ned frowned. Cat had said there was a rumor going around that Jon was Ashara and Brandon’s. Competing against another rumor that Jon was his and Ashara’s.

“Was it because of the thing with Ashara?”

“No it was because I have a tiny cock,” Brandon rolled his eyes. “Of course it was. I could tell her the pictures were fake until I was blue in the face. I guess when you’re caught with your pants down as many times as I’ve been, it rings a little hollow.”

“Maybe if Lyanna called her to explain,” Ned began.

“Look, it’s really not a big deal. We were on our last legs and there’s a certain dramatic irony to her dumping me over the one girl I DIDN’T cheat on her with,” Brandon grinned. “You know I actually did have the girl they photoshopped Ashara’s head onto? Over my office desk.”

“Don’t tell father,” Ned wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Why is it that everybody gets to have sex but me?” Benjen sulked. “It’s not like I’ve taken an oath of celibacy!”

“Don’t tell me what?” Rickard Stark asked, as he walked in with Jon and Robb in each arm. “Ned help me, I think my back’s about to give out. I can’t believe I used to do this with you and Lyanna. What are you feeding these boys?!”

“I’ve got you,” Ned cooed as he took Robb, letting Rickard shift Jon off his hip and into both arms.

“Brandon was just telling us how he had his aide in his office—“ Benjen began.

“Going over the latest tax proposals from the city,” Brandon interjected hastily. “They’re outrageous father, the northern part of the city might me the biggest but it’s also the poorest and these rates are tyranny!”

“You don’t have to get me started,” Rickard shook his head, and that was all it took to send them spiraling down a rabbit hole of local politics. Ned took some comfort in the way that as much as his life changed, the people in it didn’t change at all. It was nice to know there were some people he could always count on.

“Want to do some work on the backyard porch?” Benjen asked Ned hopefully. Ned laughed. The backyard porch had been a construction project for as long as Ned could remember. Rickard always had a vision of what his backyard could look like, a vision that seemed to hover tantalizingly out of reach of reality. The number of weekends he and Robert had spent in high school trying not smash their thumbs in with hammers as they drank beers and Lyanna made fun of them from where she was suntanning on a beach towel nearby. And now that project had become Benjen’s. Someday it would be Robb and Jon’s.

“You shouldn’t let Brandon get to you,” Ned said, a little shyly, as they set out for the garage to get the toolbox. “The right girl is worth waiting for.”

“Says the guy who has insanely gorgeous girls chasing him without doing a thing,” Benjen growled. “I will have you know that the shy awkward thing only works for you and literally nobody else.”

“Good thing you’re not shy and awkward,” Ned pushed him. 

They spent a companionable morning dismantling the steps down to the lawn, which Rickard had decided were the wrong height and width. It was with some surprise that Ned looked down at the time and realized he would have to make good time to get to the Sept an hour early.

“You won’t forget to give the babysitter my number?” Ned called over his shoulder as he frantically knotted and reknotted the hideous tie Cersei had provided him. 

“Yes, stop worrying,” Brandon rolled his eyes. “And you can knot that as many times as you like, it won’t make it any less ugly.”

“You’re right,” Ned admitted, to which he wasn’t sure. “Be good,” he told the boys, kissing each on the crown of his head.

“No kiss for me?” Brandon pretended to pout. Ned gave him the middle finger and ran out.

He made good time to the sept, trying to smile as a valet hurried to assist him with his car. The place was huge, and he was a little bewildered as to where he should go. He shot a quick text to Robert as he walked in.

The entry hall was overrun with Lannisters. Ned felt his feet freeze as he stared at the scene in horror. How had they crammed so many blond-haired arrogant looking individuals into one place?

“Hullo,” Ned looked down as he felt a tug at his pants. A small skinny blond haired boy of about eight was looking up at him. “I’m Tyrek.”

“I’m Ned,” Ned said, swallowing a laugh. “Have you seen the bride or the groom by any chance?”

“Cersei is in the garden with Uncle Tywin,” Tyrek told him solemnly. 

“Uh right,” Ned felt a shiver go down his spine. Cersei didn’t need to know he was here. “What about Robert? The groom?”

Tyrek shook his head. 

“Okay,” Ned said uncertainly. “I’m just going to look for him...” he tried to pry Tyrek’s sticky hand off his suit pants.

Once disentangled, Ned set off to find the groom.

He thought he’d had some success when he spotted Robert’s father, waving a glass of red wine and laughing to someone.

“Mr. Baratheon!” Ned said hopefully.

“Ned Stark, as I live and breathe,” Steffon Baratheon grinned. “You’ve met Tywin Lannister haven’t you?”

Ned froze, as the man he was talking to turned around.

“I’m not sure we’ve had the pleasure,” Tywin drawled. “But of course I know you. You’re the boy from the police video.”

Ned stiffened, not sure what to say. If Steffon noticed something was amiss however, he did not let on.

“I keep saying Tywin, the only cure for a nervous breakdown is sex. Hot dirty sex in a semi-public place,” Steffon elbowed Tywin, who was busy incinerating Ned by death glare.

“So nice to see you both, I’m very happy for Cersei and Robert,” Ned stammered before excusing himself. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, convinced he could still feel Tywin’s stare digging into his back.

Fortunately the next familiar face was a friendlier one.

“Mace!” Ned called, spotting the Tyrells as they entered. 

Mace gave him a slightly harried smile, trying to balance as he was his mother’s handbag, a four year old child, and a wedding gift.

“If you’ll just excuse me, for a second,” Mace said to his wife and mother, neither of whom was paying him the slightest amount of attention.

“This must be Loras,” Ned smiled at the boy, an elfin looking creature with long honey brown curls. He seemed to have very little of his father in him, which was not necessarily a bad thing. “Here let me help you with that,” Ned took the gift from Mace’s other hand, allowing him to rebalance.

“Thanks. The sitter fell through,” Mace sighed. “This morning was a nightmare trying to get Loras into his little suit. Alerie has been in a panic that she’s offended Cersei somehow and went out and got the most ridiculously expensive crystal vase as a wedding present and my mother went through my credit card statements and found it and the two have been going at it hammer and tongs,” he looked dolefully at his son. “At this point I’m just hoping they kill each other.”

“Well I can put this down for you with the other gifts at least,” Ned offered. “Do you have the ring? I just don’t want to forget...”

He trailed off at the look of horror on Mace’s face.

“Mace Tyrell, you didn’t!” Ned growled.

“It’s back in Highgarden! Shit, I can picture exactly which drawer it’s in!”

“I don’t care which drawer it’s in! You literally had one job to do!!! I can’t tell Cersei we don’t have a ring, she’ll kill me! And then Jaime will kill me! And then Tywin will kill me!”

“Robert might also kill you,” Mace offered weakly.

“NOT HELPFUL!”

Robert wouldn’t really kill him, would he? Oh gods, he might. He was the best man, this was literally the only thing he had to take care of today. He was a terrible best man and a terrible friend and what in seven hells were they going to do?!

“Okay the pocket squares are terrible but you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Thoros ambled up to them. Somehow the outfit seemed even uglier on him, but Thoros wore it with a sort of cheerful indifference.

“Mace... forgot the ring,” Ned bit out.

“I didn’t mean to!” Mace wrung his hands.

“We have to tell Robert. Have you seen him?” Ned looked over his shoulder hopefully.

“I haven’t.”

“Well Steffon is here, so he must be somewhere,” Ned frowned.

The three of them proceeded to search every nook of the sept, a process that took some thirty minutes.

“It’s his wedding! Where the heck is he?” Ned fretted. Should he have called him this morning to make sure he was up? He thought Stannis would do that! Should he call him now? He felt his pants pocket for his phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Fuck, he couldn’t have lost it already, he had just gotten it replaced!

“Okay, we clearly need to find a substitute ring,” Thoros said slowly. “One that’s nice enough that Cersei won’t freak out about the wedding photos.”

“It’s going to have to be REALLY nice,” Ned frowned. 

“So let’s see,” Thoros said, eyeing Mace. “Who on earth might possibly have an incredibly expensive ring that we can substitute?”

Mace shrugged.

“Like say a sixty thousand dragon ring?” Thoros prodded.

“I mean we can look around the wedding guests, but that’s super high end,” Mace scratched his head. “And we can’t ask anyone who might tell other guests.”

“Oh we should definitely borrow it without asking,” Thoros said bluntly.

“See when you take something that doesn’t belong to you without permission, it’s stealing. It doesn’t matter if you eventually intend to return it,” Ned scrunched his face. Thoros was a nice guy, but Ned felt like he had missed some basic ethics classes at some point in his life.

“Right, Mace. Who could we steal a very expensive ring from that you would be in a very good position to return it to after the wedding?” Thoros stared at Mace, ignoring Ned entirely.

“Oh no,” Mace’s face went ashen. “You can’t possibly mean...”

“Gam Gam!” Loras waved over Mace’s shoulder. “Look, Gam Gam!”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Mace hissed.

“Where’s my favorite boy?” Olenna Tyrell approached and lifted Loras from Mace’s grasp. Ned took a second to covertly study her ring. It was really nice. Three rubies and two diamonds in an alternating pattern. One might even say the rubies were Lannister red.

“Now why so serious boys? You look frightfully glum for a wedding,” Olenna eyed them suspiciously.

“Nothing mother, I was just explaining a joke I’d heard,” Mace shifted from foot to foot.

“See that’s your problem dear, you’re supposed to tell the joke not explain it,” Olenna rolled her eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my grandson back over to his birdbrain of a mother. Hopefully that will keep her occupied, I really don’t have time to babysit all three of you. I have my eye on bigger game.”

“Do NOT steal my mother’s ring,” Mace whispered angrily.

“Of course not,” Thoros said amiably, and Mace’s shoulders dropped in relief.

“You’ll steal her ring,” Thoros patted him on the back. 

“What?! I don’t think you understand what my mother would do to me if...”

“Ned, tell Robert he will have a very lovely ring. We’re taking care of it,” Thoros slung a not entirely friendly arm over Mace’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Ned gave Thoros a relieved smile. Now to find Robert... well he had looked in just about every room in this sept. He had to be outside on the grounds.

Ned walked into the gardens and looked around. Guests were mingling and he could hear the musical laugh of Cassana Baratheon from the center of a group of admirers. He edged a little closer to see if Robert was with his mother—was Cassana Baratheon wearing a white dress? Nope nope nope, Ned backtracked. He wanted no part of that.

“Pssst!” There was a whisper from a grove with a little shrine. Ned looked around but didn’t see anybody.

“PSSST!”

There it was again, louder! Hesitantly, Ned drifted toward the sound. 

“Stark!” The voice was in an urgent undertone, and Ned took another step toward the trees. Only for someone to grab his arm and pull him behind the shrine.

“Hey! Who the hell—Hoster?” Ned blinked, to find his father-in-law staring at him.

“Stark, I need to speak to you,” Hoster Tully said formally and a little stiffly for someone who was lurking in the dark corners of a garden to spring out at people.

“I have repeatedly attempted to contact Cat. Phone calls, texts, an old fashioned letter... it’s not like her to ignore me like this!”

“I believe Catelyn made her feelings about your behavior quite clear,” Ned said uncomfortably.

“Listen, I’m not... can you just arrange a meeting? I have to apologize.”

Ned had to stop his jaw from dropping. Hoster Tully, apologize?

“I can’t lose my daughter over this. And I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to see her in person, if this keeps up. Can you help me? Please?” Hoster Tully ground out the last word as though it were physically painful.

Ned shifted uncomfortably. Cat had been very clear about her disinclination to speak to her father for the next decade, at best. But he was her family. Just the thought of something coming between him and his own father and not being able to fix it gave Ned a lump in his throat. Cat would be annoyed with him, but didn’t Hoster deserve one more shot to make things right?

“Um I’ll see what I can do,” Ned said tentatively.

“I appreciate it. I do. I think you are a good man, Eddard. I am sorry if I overlook that. I want more for Catelyn than what you can give her, but I have always thought you were a good man,” Hoster said bluntly.

Ned rolled his eyes. On the other hand, maybe he could just say nothing and leave his obnoxious pill of an in-law to stew in dark corners.

He mulled the dilemma as he trudged back toward the sept. He wished he could tell Robert about the interaction he’d just had, maybe get his thoughts. Instead, he was nearly flattened by Jaime Lannister, running around a corner.

“Stark!”

Ned sighed. Why did he always run into Jaime when he was already severely rattled?

“Look, it’s not like a super big deal or anything, and you shouldn’t worry but the thing is Cersei is, um, missing,” Jaime coughed.

“Missing?” Ned stared.

“Temporarily,” Jaime hastened to add. “Totally fixable. Just don’t tell Robert. Keep him distracted, okay? We’ll find her and he doesn’t need to be any the wiser.”

Jaime ran off. Ned continued to stare after him. 

No ring. Missing bride. And where in the seven hells was Robert?!


	40. Cersei (Shotgun! 3 of 12)

Cersei opened her eyes as the makeup artist stepped back and surveyed her reflection critically. She had always been beautiful—that wasn’t vanity, that was reality. But this creature in the mirror was something else. Cersei smirked, and the mirror girl turned it into a shy smile. Cersei made a note to give the makeup artist an extra large tip.

The other girls were getting ready in the adjoining room. Cersei felt an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt, upon seeing how extraordinarily awesome she looked. Like maybe the pink poofy dresses had been a touch unnecessary. Stop that, she told mirror Cersei sternly. Second guessing is for losers.

But second guessing or not, her over the top transformation left her feeling in the zone. There had been a few hiccups along the way—Robert was supposed to have been here at least thirty minutes ago, Aunt Genna was haggling over their contribution with a septa downstairs which was tacky and wearing a hideous black shawl which was worse—but Cersei felt coolly prepared to deal with any issues that might arise.

“Cersei?” Catelyn Tully poked her head in for a moment. “Do you mind if we talk?”

Cersei gave a gracious wave to the chair across from her.

“I was—wow, you look fantastic,” Catelyn did a double take. 

She did. She really really did.

“So here’s the thing...”

She looked like somebody had taken the oozing surface of the sun hot sex appeal of Ashara Dayne and the wide-eyed Bambi sweetness of Elia Martell, bottled them up and shook, then served cold in an Elsa from Frozen mold.

“and I don’t think it is fair or kind to be spreading those kinds of rumors. People could get hurt. People DID get hurt,” Catelyn said firmly, looking at her.

Okay, Cersei might have lost the thread of this conversation.

“Jon will have a tough enough time growing up without this kind of nonsense following him every step of the way.”

Oh! This was about Alerie and Mace and their terrible and scurrilous rumor about her soon-to-be-husband’s best man. Cersei beamed benevolently.

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said warmly.

“Um, good, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Catelyn said tentatively.

“Plans are in place to deal with them, don’t you worry,” Cersei assured her.

“Them? Wait, who are you talking about, I’m talking about you—“

“Alerie and Mace Tyrell spread that dreadful rumor about Ned and Ashara,” Cersei explained patiently. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if Catelyn was quite as intelligent as everyone seemed to think. “But don’t worry, I’ve arranged to teach them a lesson they won’t forget any time soon.”

“I don’t think we need to go overboard, I mean the best revenge is living well right? So as long as we make sure Jon is isolated from this kind of nonsense...” Catelyn was backtracking frantically.

The best revenge is living well?! Please, the best revenge is revenge, Cersei thought. This is why the Catelyns of the world needed people like her. To do what was necessary.

“It’s all been taken care of,” Cersei said soothingly, like she might have said to Tyrion long ago when he was being bullied. “They won’t be putting a foot wrong any time soon.”

“Do I even want to know?” Catelyn winced.

“I have arranged to give them both... vanilla wedding cake,” Cersei said with a dramatic flourish. She paused, waiting for a gasp.

“Oh, okay, that’s fine,” Catelyn said, looking bemused.

No, it wasn’t fine, it was BRILLIANT! Everybody knew the base layer of the wedding cake was reserved for the lowest denominator of wedding guest. Certainly a grasping little social climber like Alerie Tyrell did. She would get her slice of cake and it would be a terrible snub in front of all the people she most wanted to impress. Cersei had bumped Olenna Tyrell from the chocolate second tier up to the lemon-raspberry third tier to make her point even clearer. Alerie would be humiliated at the social event of the year, and spend months groveling to Cersei to get back into her good graces. 

As for Mace... well, he just really liked cake. Plain vanilla was probably the worst hand he’d been dealt since cafeteria lunches.

“I think your family just drove up,” Brienne poked her head in. Excellent.

Cersei greeted them as they entered the courtyard, enjoying the heads turning as she floated through the sept. It was only family and friends at this early hour of course. She wouldn’t risk just anybody catching a glimpse of her and ruining her grand entrance at the ceremony.

“Cersei, a word?” Varys materialized and she favored him with a nod as they walked briskly toward the front.

“Hoster Tully arrived early. I had him turned away from the building of course, and let him know that it was only wedding party in the main sept until thirty minutes beforehand, but he is on the grounds,” Varys began. “Baelish has been working nonstop to spread those rumors about Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne. He’s still pissy about not getting the invitation I presume.” Cersei rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep the press scrum away from the bridesmaids, I just wanted to keep you apprised.”

“Any sign of Robert?”

“No but his parents checked in just now, according to my contact in security.”

“Hmmm well keep Hoster away from the bridesmaids too. Nothing to be done about Baelish at the moment,” unlike the original authors of that particular rumor, “but I’ll deal with him later.”

“Your Aunt Genna has reduced a septa to tears,” Varys consulted his notes.

“Send Uncle Gerion to deal with her, he’s good at that sort of thing.”

“Garth Greenhands is complaining that you stiffed him on the engagement flowers.”

“Give him an extra thousand to keep him happy, we can always take it out of future services.”

As Cersei effortlessly batted back every problem, she felt it again, that the entire arc of the universe was bending exactly according to her plan. 

“Excuse me, I see my family,” she gave Varys a dazzling smile, and such was her amplified charm that even the perpetually impassive Varys was forced to smile back. 

Jaime and her father both looked perfect. Cersei embraced each lightly, fantasizing about how gorgeous their photos would be. With Ellyn Tarbeck glowering across the camera from him, Tywin Lannister might even smile. 

And then came the gremlin. As with most people, Cersei’s gaze first hit the top of his head before drifting downward. The challenging smirk immediately tipped her off that something was wrong, and as she looked down she saw it. It. The hideous monstrosity that could only be described as the world’s ugliest tie. 

“Is that... a tie?” She managed, reeling at the tackiness. At least she hadn’t made her bridesmaids wear a fabric of THAT.

“It’s a fuck-you-for-ruining-my-life,” Tyrion growled, and they exchanged a cold stare. “Look, it lights up!”

That... monster. What did he want from her?! He was a terrorist! A wedding terrorist!

Uncle Gerion came over, somewhat diffusing the situation, and then Jaime left to track down Brienne. As Gerion and Tywin exchanged a rapid fire exchange about Lannister Corp’s expansion into Yi Ti, Cersei stared down Tyrion. How dare he interrupt her flow?! Everything had been going so smoothly!

“Take it off!” Cersei finally snapped.

“No,” Tyrion shrugged. “It’s high time you learned that there are things beyond your control.”

Cersei stomped her foot.

“I can’t believe this is still about that stupid girl! She didn’t like you like that! I was saving you from getting hurt!”

“She didn’t have a chance to like me like that! And you can’t do this, just snap your fingers and have everybody marching to your tune! You’re turning into father!”

“She would have never liked you like that! She was a pretty bimbo who would have never been able to meet you at your level and you deserve so much more than that!”

“What makes you think I have anywhere near the choices that you seem to think I do?! Have you noticed that I’m four foot four?!”

“And you deserve someone who will take the time to get to know you beyond being a fun story to tell their mates! I know that girl, I know her type. She could never be the kind of girl who could deserve you. Who would appreciate how smart you are and how funny you are and that you have really good taste in wine,” Cersei found she was digging her nails into her palms. “Maybe I will never be able to convince you that there’s a girl out there who can do that, but I don’t have to convince you. I just have to scare away all the others until she shows up.”

“Gods Cersei,” Tyrion groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “We got so close to having a moment. Why do you have to be such a sociopath?!”

“TAKE OFF THAT TIE BEFORE I STRANGLE YOU WITH IT!”

“I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY!”

“Cersei, Tyrion.” 

Their fight ended with the chilly admonishment from their father, as most of their fights did.

Cersei huffed, glaring. This was wrong. The fucking tie was wrong. Didn’t he see? If he didn’t take it off, their photos wouldn’t be perfect. And if their photos weren’t perfect, the wedding wouldn’t be perfect. And if the wedding wasn’t perfect, NOTHING WOULD BE PERFECT!

“Cersei, I need to talk to you,” Tywin said stiffly. “Let’s walk toward the gardens.”

Behind him, Tyrion stuck his tongue out and she drew her perfectly manicured finger across her neck in response.

“This way, Cersei,” Tywin repeated patiently, ushering her away as if she were a recalcitrant child. 

Cersei tried to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as she fantasized a thousand different ways to murder the tie. In a shredder, in a fire, slowly dissolved in a bucket of bleach, it lit up so there were wires that could be painstakingly stripped and then unwound and then each individual copper thread diced with a chopping knife into a thousand tiny pieces...

“Cersei, I love you.”

Cersei stopped short, and her father turned. They stood like that, awkwardly separate, her father half facing her and half facing away. Had Tywin ever said that? She knew on some rational objective level that he loved her, that he loved all of them, but it was only ever felt as an undercurrent passing through, there for a second in his behavior and then gone.

Tywin took a deep breath, apparently unsure how to proceed.

“Being a parent is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, Cersei. It is exhausting and overwhelming and there are no maps and no certainty that any mistake you make won’t irreparably scar the thing you love most in this world. And being a single parent is incredibly lonely. It is not something I would have ever chosen. It was forced upon me through painful, near unendurable circumstance. Frankly, it is not something I would wish on anybody. And you are so much like me, Cersei. I do see that. To see you making that choice blindly, making it without any sense of what it could mean, for you, for your child... I just couldn’t let you do it.”

Cersei felt cold and somehow remote, like she was looking down at the two of them as a bystander in her own body.

“I thought, isn’t that a part of love? To keep your children from making mistakes, to spare them from hardship, and then it was so easy to pressure Robert to propose to you and pressure you to say yes. But I’ve had a number of conversations over the last few weeks that make me wonder if my strategy weren’t fundamentally misguided.”

My strategy was fundamentally misguided, the CEO told his stockholders, not the father told the daughter fucking FORTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE WEDDING!

“I don’t know what choices will bring you happiness, Cersei. Robert certainly has his short-comings, and though I would give anything to have your mother back, I can’t promise he will be the partner she was. And... maybe if there’s a mistake to be made, it should be your mistake to make. I don’t have any right to take that choice from you,” Tywin swallowed painfully.

“What are you saying?” Cersei said, and her voice came out thin and tremulous and childlike and she hated it.

“You will have a seat on the board of Lannister Corp at thirty. You always had it.”

“You want me to call off the wedding? People are coming, we’ve already spent all the money, think of what the papers will say...”

“I want you to do what you want to do,” Tywin cut her off, the words crisp and precise. “You will have my utmost support either way. I don’t give a damn what it costs and none of us, not me, not you, not your baby, will give a damn what people say. We are Lannisters.”

And on that note, he straightened and walked away.

Cersei blinked, feeling like if she took a step in either direction, she might fall. That the world had gone atilt somehow, that things weren’t at the angle they should be. She didn’t have to marry Robert. She’d never had to marry Robert. Did she want to?

She swallowed and looked up at the arching glass window of the sept. That alien reflection looked back, the beautiful bride. Was it even her? It looked like her and it didn’t, one possible refraction of what she could be.

I love Robert, came the voice, small and quiet, into the stillness. And she did. It was so easy with him, and he’d always seen her for exactly who she was and it had never bothered him. He might have even loved her more for it. But it’s not like she would never see him again if they didn’t get married, another voice said impatiently. And she was Cersei Lannister, she’d never needed anyone in her entire life. She didn’t need his family and she didn’t need his money, and so what if that dopey grin of his elicited something fragile and fluttery from her. 

Cersei took another deep steadying breath. Her reflection watched her, waiting for the decision.

Her phone rang. She almost trembled in relief, fumbling for it with suddenly clumsy fingers. It was Varys with the guest list, or maybe Robert had finally gotten here or maybe Brienne—it was her doctor’s office.

Right, she’d scheduled her first ultrasound a smidge on the early side—sixteen weeks—to avoid having to deal with it during the wedding whirlwind. Just checking in with her favorite girl! Cersei rested a hand on the biscuit, still thankfully invisible.

“Hello, this is Cersei Lannister,” Cersei answered the phone in bland professional tones.

“Miss Lannister, it’s Nan Winters calling from Dr. Luwin’s office. We have the results of the ultrasound—it says here in my notes you didn’t want to wait for them because you had an appointment?”

“Yes, quite right,” Cersei said briskly. These doctors were so anal about holding your hand through every moment. Like she had time to hang around and wait for some technician to develop images of her uterus.

“Well everything looks perfect,” Nan Winters said warmly. “Absolutely nothing you should be worried about.” 

Cersei let out a breath. At least one thing managing to not be an issue.

“Actually, I have some good news,” Nan continued.

“Hmm?”

“It’s not always possible, especially in these first early ultrasounds, but we were able to determine the gender of your baby. That is, assuming you want to know.”

Cersei glanced down at biscuit. Her perfect little girl, her Genna Joanna Lannister-Baratheon, with her perfect golden curls and green eyes. She had already given Westerling instructions on saving the August edition of Vogue. It was little Genna’s first photo shoot after all.

“Of course,” Cersei said to Nan, imagining how she would frame it in the nursery. She had gone with a princess theme, but she was open to redoing it if her little girl wanted something more STEM oriented. She had found the cutest pink solar system mobile the other day, but she could also do like a jungle theme and get her little safari outfits and a stuffed elephant... She could practically see her, Genna Joanna Lannister-Baratheon, long-legged and coltish like when Cersei had been a girl, a red bandana around her neck and braids swinging under her pith helmet.

“Congratulations, it’s a baby boy,” Nan Winters said.

What? The picture perfect image in her head spiderwebbed ominously, like glass.

“What?” Cersei said. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Nan laughed. “It’s easier to confirm it’s a boy than to confirm it’s a girl you know. And he’s a big one!”

Genna Joanna Lannister-Baratheon crumbled into shards.

Cersei sat down on the grass, wedding dress be damned.

A boy. She was having a baby boy. And not just any baby boy, her eyes suddenly welled up. A big one, Nan had said. The new image didn’t look like Cersei at all. It didn’t even look like Jaime or Tyrion. It raised a chubby hand and waved, its mop of thick black hair bouncing. It was a baby Robert.

No. No no no no no. She couldn’t do this. This was not the plan. It was supposed to be her baby! Cersei took a gasping breath. Why did she feel like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen? She didn’t have a baby name! The nursery wasn’t blue! What did boys like? Jaime had always liked what she had liked. Tyrion had liked... Cersei screwed her face up trying to recall. Dragons. Tyrion had liked dragons. A hiccup of a sob shook her frame. Dragons were so dumb!

And he would be loud. Gods, he would be Robert loud. Cersei could remember Robert as a child. And even just the memory sent a shiver of disgust down her spine. Loud and dirty. Robert pushing Jaime in the mud, Robert breaking her Barbie and laughing. Robert and his stupid temper tantrums that would get them all in trouble. 

Cersei had to get away. She staggered to her feet, looking around wildly. Nobody could see her like this. Everything was spinning out of control and it was all wrong and nothing was happening like she’d planned. Cersei was done. The end, game over, tapping out. Facing her expectant audience of thousands. For my first and last trick... a vanishing act.


	41. Stannis (Shotgun! 4 of 12)

Stannis awoke in his childhood bedroom groggily. There was the sound of crunching gravel outside and he lifted his head to see the black limo he’d arranged to take himself, Renly and Robert to the wedding pull away.

Stannis rubbed his eyes and stared after it. Had Robert gotten up early and decided to take it without bothering to wait for his brothers?! That selfish shithead! Stannis fumbled for his phone to give Robert a piece of his mind. He pulled it off the charging station, but it was dead. Stannis stared at it uncomprehendingly. Why hadn’t it charged last night? He peeked over the edge of the bed. The power cord dangled impotently from the end table. Ugh.

Stannis struggled to a sitting position. What time was it anyway? He felt like really well rested. Suspiciously well rested. He stretched to get his watch.

Noon?!?

Fuck! No wonder they had left without him! It would be an hour to get across town in traffic and Cersei wanted Robert there at two because the ceremony started at three. And say you wanted about Harry Strickland, but the man really had some sensible ideas about the importance of arriving to locations before the appointed time.

Stannis groggily struggled out of bed and mechanically began to don the suit that he had neatly pressed and laid out for himself the night before. He closed his eyes as he put on the pink tie to avoid seeing his reflection, but was then forced to open them because the idea of not knowing whether his tie was on straight was more or less unthinkable.

He hurried to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, tried unsuccessfully to comb his hair in a manner that would conceal how thin it was getting on top. Then he hurried down to the kitchen to call Robert on his cell.

Predictably, nobody picked up. Stannis rolled his eyes, and called again. And again. And again. Finally on the fifth attempt he got an answer.

“Nnngh?”

“Robert?” Stannis asked, a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. Why did his brother really REALLY not sound like he was in a limo on the way to his wedding?

“Ugh, yeah?” 

Stannis sighed and started walking upstairs, still holding the phone.

“I don’t suppose you set your alarm last night, you know for your WEDDING?” Stannis turned down the corridor toward their bedrooms.

“Alarm? Why would I set my alarm, you’ll just wake me up when it’s time to go.”

Stannis sighed and kicked Robert’s door open.

“Get up, it’s time to go.”

Robert rolled over to look at him.

“Why are you in such a mood?” He asked into the cell phone.

Stannis growled and hung up.

“Because I think Renly took the limo to the wedding without us! And we’re running late!”

“Little shit,” Robert yawned, seemingly unperturbed. Stannis ground his teeth.

“I know you have never been on time for anything in your life, but I assumed your wedding will be the exception!”

“Okay calm down, it’s 12:30. We’ve got like an hour to get ready and we’ll still be there before the ceremony,” Robert rolled his eyes. 

“We’re supposed to be there at 2!”

“Okay, that’s still thirty minutes to get ready. We’re fine,” Robert waved a hand, and then slowly swung himself out of bed, cracking his neck and his back loudly. 

Stannis retreated to the hallway. Okay, maybe Robert had a point. It’s not like Robert took forever to get ready. Not like Renly. Renly had inherited the worst of Stannis’ OCD habits and the worst of Robert’s complete inability to get out of bed. Honestly it was a miracle he got anywhere at all...

Stannis frowned, the slightest glimmer of suspicion appearing in the back of his mind. It was out of character of Renly to get completely dressed and depart on time without threats of bodily injury. But the car had left—Stannis walked over to Renly’s room and opened it.

The heavy drapes of his sitting room cast the entire scene in twilight. Stannis squinted. Through the gloom he could make out the outline of Renly, sleeping completely undisturbed.

Stannis groaned. Renly snuggled deeper under the blankets.

“Renly get up,” Stannis growled, turning on the lights.

Renly only put a pillow over his head to block out the stimulus.

“Renly, I don’t have time for this, you’re going to make us late to Robert’s wedding,” Stannis snapped.

No response.

Stannis walked out and caught Robert stepping out of the shower.

“I need you to get Renly out of bed by any means necessary,” Stannis informed him.

“Any means necessary?” Robert grinned, already reaching for a towel to twist into a rat’s tail.

“Yes,” Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose, resigning himself to an hour-long car ride of recriminations and complaints.

And speaking of car rides... Stannis scowled. By process of elimination he had arrived at the purloiners of their ride. He dialed a number on the phone still dangling from one hand.

“Cassana Baratheon,” his mother answered with a musical warmth. 

“It’s Stannis.”

“Oh,” the warmth promptly flattened. “Can I help you dear?”

In the background there was a high pitched scream that had to be Renly. Stannis covered the mouthpiece.

“Did you take the car that I had called for Robert and Renly and me?”

“Oh is that what it was?” Cassana laughed lightly. “Sorry dear, just a mix up.”

“Oh, so we should expect the car you reserved to pick us up shortly?” Stannis inquired acidly.

“Don’t be silly Stannis, I assumed you had ordered the car for us and gone on ahead. After all, you were nowhere to be found.”

“Did you check my bedroom?!”

“Listen, there’s no need to make such a fuss. Just take one of our cars, darling,” Cassana said breezily and promptly hung up.

Stannis glared at the phone. The screaming had gone silent upstairs. Stannis sighed and began to trudge up the stairs once more, to check that Robert hadn’t taken the dead or alive approach to “any means necessary”.

Instead he heard the shower running and found Robert leaning outside the bathroom with the air of one who has accomplished a difficult task and done it well.

“Our parents stole our limo,” Stannis informed him stiffly. “They have suggested we take one of our cars to the Sept.”

“No problem,” Robert shrugged. “Let’s take the Dragon while we still have it. I’ll get us there in forty minutes, tops.”

Stannis flinched. One of the many reasons he had thought it prudent to hire a car service was Robert’s terrifying driving habits.

“Don’t be silly, it’s your wedding. I’ll drive us,” Stannis said quickly. He glanced at his watch. 12:45. Their buffer of time was rapidly dwindling.

“Renly, are you almost done in there?!” Stannis raised his voice.

“Stannis, I am only on my third conditioning treatment!” Renly snapped from behind the door. “Cersei says the wedding will be crawling with press and my hair has to be its shiny lustrous BEST for my debut!”

“Third of HOW MANY conditioning treatments?!” Stannis shouted back over the sound of the water.

“FIVE!”

“YOU DON’T NEED FIVE!”

“THIS IS WHY YOU’RE BALDING!”

“I’M NOT BALDING!”

Robert coughed. Stannis glared at him.

“Can you try to be helpful?” Stannis bit.

“Renly, if you don’t get out of there, I’m going to cut off the hot water!” Robert called.

There was a pause.

“You don’t know how to do that!” Renly yelled. But he sounded uncertain. The sound of the shower became slightly quieter as he waited for Robert’s response.

“Sure I do. It’s in the pump room,” Robert said. Then he walked over to the top of the stairs and began marching in place on the top step, to give the impression of someone walking downward.

A pause and then the water cut off. There was the sound of cupboards frantically banging. Briefly the sound of a hairdryer.

“Stannis, it’s not fair! You know how important this day is to me, this is my chance at a big break with an agent and good representation is so important in my industry and this kind of opportunity only comes around once in a lifetime and I need to be looking my—“ Renly flung open the door and saw Robert still leaning against the bannister.

“I HATE YOU!” Renly shrieked. “THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY DAY AND YOU’RE RUINING IT!”

“I thought it was supposed to be my day,” Robert scratched his nose unrepentantly.

“AAAAHHH!” Renly threw the hairdryer at Robert, who caught it. Followed by a bottle of cologne, also caught. And then a hairbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap, all caught.

“We need to go,” Stannis grabbed Renly by the shoulder as he started to reach for a razor.

Frogmarching Renly to the car, he managed to grab his wallet, phone and the car keys on the way out. Renly and Robert never stopped bickering for a second, not even during the interval when Stannis had to practically clamber across Renly to get his seat belt securely buckled. Seat belt safety, after all, was a federal law.

He collapsed into the driver’s seat with a sigh of relief and glanced tiredly at the clock. It was 1:10. They were running ten minutes late, which, for his brothers, was practically on time.

“It’s always about you! Honestly, what day IS NOT YOUR DAY! What are you, the fucking king of the world?!”

“IT’S MY WEDDING DAY! Stop getting your undies in a twist because you couldn’t gel your hair, honestly you use too much product as it is—“

“How dare you insult my hair care regimen!!!”

With a sigh, Stannis turned the car on and quietly backed out of the driveway.

He listened to his brothers’ back and forth on hair care for the twenty minute drive through downtown. The traffic had thinned some by the time they got on the highway to make it around to Visenya’s Hill, and his brothers had moved on to speculating about Stannis’ own hair and why it appeared to be thinning on top. Stannis gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the drive.

There was a truck in the lane next to him, black with red detailing, that Stannis didn’t care for. It was driving erratically, and if it had been another day, Stannis might have considered calling the police. Instead he moved from the middle lane to the left hand lane. The truck likewise moved over a lane so it was again next to him.

Stannis frowned and dropped his speed to well below the speed limit. The truck did likewise. Stannis was finally forced to speed back up after a car behind them began honking angrily. 

Okay, this was weird right? He considered asking Robert and Renly, but they had moved on to speculating as to whether his hair loss was caused by stress.

Then the driver’s window began to roll down and somebody leaned out, scrutinizing their car.

He had short brown hair and a mustache and beard, and for a moment Stannis struggled to place him, though he seemed oddly familiar. Then their eyes met, the driver’s eyes a flat grey and glinting manically. Fuck.

“Euron Greyjoy!” Stannis yelped, as Euron saw the recognition in his face and grinned. His truck suddenly swerved and slammed into the side of their car.

“Fuck!” Robert said, annoyed.

“Stannis, what the hell?!” Renly sniped.

“It’s not me, it’s EURON GREYJOY!” Stannis shouted as the truck slammed into them again, this time sending them spinning across half a lane. 

“Oh gods is he going to ram us?!” Renly shrieked.

“Shit look out!” Robert threw his arm in front of Stannis as the truck once more made impact with a sickening crunch of glass and metal. Stannis felt nauseous as the car spun wildly and then there was another thud as they smashed through the divider, coming to a jolting halt in a ditch off the side of the road.

Stannis’ air bag had deployed and he fought free of the pooling white obstruction, struggled out of his restraints and kicked the door open. With a grunt, he forced his way out and landed gratefully in the dirt.

He twisted to survey the wreckage. Half of the car had been caved in, the windshield was shattered, and something was smoking under the hood of the car. Needless to say, the black and red truck was nowhere in sight.

With a groan, Renly clambered free and staggered over to him. Surveying the dirt hill with a moue of distaste, he produced a scarf which he lay on the ground before carefully sitting.

“Was that really Euron fucking Greyjoy?” Renly wrinkled his nose.

“Yes it fucking was,” Stannis sighed heavily. If he could have made a list of all the people from high school that he could quite happily never see again, the Greyjoys would have topped that list. 

“I thought he was in prison,” Renly said sulkily, as if being out of the loop were a personal affront to him.

“Well he certainly should be,” Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose. The car was wrecked! How on earth were they ever going to get Robert to the sept on—

“Robert!” Stannis staggered to his feet, realizing his older brother had not emerged from the car yet.

Frantically he made his away around to the passenger door, and wrenched it open. Robert half fell out, and Stannis had to half catch him to pull him to his feet. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, Stannis thought with dismay. Of course he hadn’t.

“Robert, are you okay?” Stannis asked cautiously.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Robert shrugged him off.

Oh thank you gods. Thank you Mother and Maiden and Warrior and Father and—-

“Put me back in coach, I can play,” Robert continued, rubbing his head.

Fuck.

“Hey, stop that for a second?” Stannis caught his hand and pulled it away from his head. He tentatively prodded Robert’s skull. He could feel his a lump the size of a goose egg rising. Stannis swallowed.

“It’s bright isn’t it?” Robert squinted at the sky.

“Renly!!” Stannis called, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Renly came trotting over.

“Robert hit his head against the passenger window. He has a concussion and a lump on his head the size of my fist,” Stannis said quietly in an undertone. Robert had sat down and was looking at the remnants of the car curiously. “We need to get him to the hospital. You call a cab and I’ll call Ned and tell him the wedding is postponed.”

Just the thought of having to tell Cersei made Stannis shiver. That was one task he was emphatically happy to leave to Ned.

“Stannis,” Renly’s eyes bugged slightly. “We are not bailing on this wedding.”

“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Stannis began, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Robert’s fine, aren’t you?” Renly raised his voice.

“Never better,” Robert said promptly. “Say, who wrecked that car?”

Stannis raised an eyebrow at Renly.

“Listen, all you need to do is get us to that wedding,” Renly scowled. He reached into his satchel and produced a bottle of pills which he shook with an ominous rattle. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“What are those?” Stannis tried to snatch them away but Renly danced out of reach.

“Mum’s migraine pills,” Renly said cheerily.

Stannis scowled. He should have recognized them by sight alone. His mother was rarely without them during prolonged family gatherings.

“Those are prescription grade horse tranquilizers with a healthy kick of Xanax and you know it,” Stannis growled, making another grab for the bottle. “Why do you even have them?!”

“I consider us on a need to know basis,” Renly sniffed. “And give me ten minutes. If Robert doesn’t know where he is and what’s going on, you can call a taxi for the hospital.”

Ten minutes later, Stannis was prepared to concede that Renly had been right. Not that he begrudged his brother the victory—just the thought of what Cersei would have done...

“I can’t believe Euron killed our Dragon!” Robert was on his knees mourning the vehicle, tracing its emerald green paint forlornly. “Like he just came out of nowhere right?! How did he even know where to be?!”

“I can’t believe not a single taxi company will pick us up on the side of the highway,” Renly whined, hanging up on another call. “Gods, we’re so fucking late!”

“Listen, I’m on it,” Stannis stopped Renly from dialing another number. “Can you just text Ned and let him know we’re on our way?”

“His thing for Cersei is so fucking creepy. It’s not like it’s HIS baby,” Robert huffed to nobody in particular.

“Didn’t pick up. I left a voicemail. Now where’s our ride,” Renly demanded. 

“On his way,” Stannis shot back, looking at his own phone.

“Poor poor dragon,” Robert shook his head sadly.

It with considerable relief that Stannis spotted Davos’ beat up pick up trick on the horizon.

“Heard you folks needed a lift,” Davos grinned, looking oddly out of place in the vehicle in his suit. 

“I can’t believe you were in an accident on the way to your own wedding,” Marya said sympathetically to Robert as she helped him into the backseat.

“I can’t believe I was okay! I wasn’t even wearing my seatbelt,” Robert laughed. Stannis lingered to let Renly enter before him and then shut the door.

“Why am I in the middle?” Renly immediately whined.

“Sucks to suck,” Robert yawned.

They got to the Sept at 2:30, Stannis biting his lip at the sight of the clock. Predictably, Ned saw them from across the courtyard and half sprinted to their side.

“Robert!” Ned gasped.

“Neduardo!” Robert beamed.

Gods, get a room.

“How’s my bride to be? She’s not mad that we’re late is she?”

“Um no, I’m not sure she’s even noticed,” Ned fidgeted.

“Busy troubleshooting,” Robert nodded sagely.

“Yeah, maybe,” Ned said, his voice uncharacteristically squeaky. “Stannis, can I speak to you for a second?”

Stannis sighed.

“I don’t really have time for wedding obligations, Ned. I need to call the police and report the accident. Then I need to find Doran Martell and explain how a priceless automobile ended up smashed to pieces in a ditch somewhere. I need to find Mel, I think Renly is plotting something, and don’t even get me started on my par—“

“I don’t know where Cersei is,” Ned hissed, his voice low. “Nobody’s seen her in ages. My father-in-law is skulking in the shrubbery and Mace Tyrell left the ring on his desk in Highgarden. For the gods sake, just keep Robert busy and don’t under any circumstances let him find out. Can you do that?!”

Ned was pale and his eye was twitching.

Stannis gulped.

“Yeah, totally.”


	42. Thoros (Shotgun! 5 of 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I was updating on Mondays, but it was Presidents Day over here in the US and I had to get in the car really early to go skiing :D
> 
> So updating on a Tuesday that feels like a Monday, here we go!

“Beric, get out of bed,” Thoros cajoled, tugging a foot. Beric grabbed a bed post and made what Thoros assumed was supposed to be a growling noise. Mostly he just sounded disgruntled.

“I cannot face your parents over breakfast alone dressed like this,” Thoros said plaintively. “Melisandre left ages ago and I’m starving and I need somebody to talk to your parents while I eat so I don’t have to explain what I’m wearing and how much it cost.”

Beric cracked an eye and looked him over.

“The suit is nice,” Beric said mildly. Thoros knew that was Beric-speak for the tie is hideously pink.

“Nobody will be looking at the suit, the tie blinds anybody who gazes directly at it,” Thoros rolled his eyes. “I look like I’m rolling up for the Spring Service. Now c’mon, I can smell your Mom’s cooking and if Melisandre ate all the cinnamon rolls before she left, I will do terrible things to her.”

“Do you think Robert will really care if I don’t go?” Beric asked glumly.

“No,” Thoros frowned. “But I will care. Who will I talk to?!”

“You’re a groomsman. You don’t get to talk,” Beric said wryly. “And I will be sitting alone in a pew trying to pretend like half the female population isn’t staring at me.”

Thoros sighed. In a perfect world, Beric would have taken this experience in stride and maybe used it as a growing opportunity to become less self-conscious and more comfortable in his own skin. But he supposed that was the kind of journey that took years and lots of therapy, not two months as a viral phenomenon. Which left Thoros no choice.

“I hate to burst your bubble, but they won’t be,” Thoros grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Beric.

“That’s what you said about Dorne,” Beric began doubtfully.

“Yes but this time’s different,” Thoros started trying to peel the bedsheet off him (a process made more difficult by the fact that Beric appeared to have rolled himself in it). 

“Why?” Beric huffed as Thoros managed to get the first layer free.

“This time I have empirical evidence that your three minutes of fame are over,” Thoros said cheerfully, setting to work on the second layer. 

“Oh?” Beric raised an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Thoros smirked. “Are you ready? As of four days ago,” he took a dramatic pause, “Jenny Oldstones has a boyfriend.”

He was expecting some applause honestly. Or a gasp. Beric only rolled over.

“Hey!” Thoros poked his shoulder. “This is good stuff! Do you have any idea how much high school gossip I had to listen to for this?! He’s from some fancy prep school and she’s at public. It’s all very scandalous.”

“Great, I have ONE fewer admirer. She wasn’t going to be at the wedding anyway!”

“You aren’t seeing the bigger picture,” Thoros attempted to tug Beric back toward him. “It’s not just Jenny and this Duncan kid. Once Cersei got Vogue, she pulled the commercial. Your fan base has an attention span of approximately ten seconds. They’re moving on and Jenny is indicative of that fact.”

Beric grudgingly rolled onto his back, meeting Thoros’ gaze.

“Well I certainly hope you’re right,” he mumbled. “And I wasn’t entirely serious about not coming to the wedding. It would be rude to not show up after I RSVPed.” 

“So rude,” Thoros agreed, smiling.

“And I suppose I can come down to breakfast with you.”

“Great, I think my stomach has started to devour my other organs.”

“But I’m not coming with you to the sept early,” Beric said sternly. Or as sternly as he could manage with bedhead. “There will be no waiting around to be ogled at by wedding guests.”

“I TOLD you, your five minutes of fame are over...” Thoros tried again, but Beric’s expression was unmoved. 

“Fine,” Thoros sulked. “But if there’s only one cinnamon roll left, it’s mine.”

As it turned out, there were many cinnamon rolls left over. And Beric’s presence WAS the perfect buffer for his parents’ well-meaning but occasionally claustrophobic interest. “No I’m still working at the bar,” magically became “Would you pass those scones?” and “Yes it is an ugly shade of pink” became “More honey please.”

So although the car ride was boring and quiet and he was stuck in traffic the entire time, he actually arrived at the sept in a fairly good mood.

That was until he saw Ned, standing with Mace Tyrell. Mace was holding his son Loras and looking like he was having a bout of indigestion. Which was an improvement on Ned, who was looking like someone had just killed his dog. Not that Ned was naturally the super cheerful type. Thoros sometimes wondered if he didn’t need a hug and a good slug of whiskey.

“Okay, the pocket squares are terrible but you two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Thoros tried to joke. Mace at least attempted a smile. Ned just turned, face taut with dismay.

“Mace... forgot... the ring,” Ned ground out with a positively venomous glare at Mace.

Hmm okay, well a hug probably wasn’t going to fix this. A slug of whiskey might not either, but you never knew until you tried. Thoros took a swig from his flask as Mace and Ned proceeded to freak out about Robert’s whereabouts, and then another sip or two as they dragged him along in their search of the sept.

Honestly, Thoros wasn’t sure how helpful Robert would actually be in this situation. What they needed to do was find a ring.

“We need to find a substitute ring,” he said, when it became apparent that neither Ned nor Mace were reaching that conclusion on their own. “One that’s nice enough that Cersei won’t freak out.”

“It’s going to have to be REALLY nice,” Ned frowned. Well yeah. Didn’t he just say that? Fortunately for these slowpokes, this was not Thoros’ first time coming up short one really expensive ring. Or even his second.

“Let’s see,” he said, staring at Mace pointedly and waiting for him to get the hint. “Who on earth might possibly have an incredibly expensive ring that we can substitute?”

Mace shrugged and shifted Loras in his arms. Thoros might be waiting a while.

“Like a SIXTY THOUSAND dragon ring?” Thoros said the number loudly, willing him to remember.

“I mean we can look around the wedding guests, but that’s super high end,” Mace scratched his head. “And we can’t ask anyone who might tell other guests.”

Seriously with this guy?

“Oh we should definitely borrow it without asking,” Thoros crossed his arms.

Ned said something about ethics and morality, Thoros wasn’t really paying attention, he was too focused on trying to get Mace with the program.

“Mace, who could we steal a very expensive ring from that you would be in a very good position to return it to after the wedding?” He ground out as slowly as possible.

There was a start of recognition and then a tremor of terror. Ah, there it was.

“You don’t mean...” Mace stammered.

“Gam Gam!” Loras shouted.

“You can’t be serious,” Mace hissed, and then she was on them.

“Who’s my favorite boy?” Olenna Tyrell demanded, whisking Loras away from Mace.

She was much as Thoros remembered her from his lackluster tenure at King’s Landing Prep. Elegant in a rather cold and sharp kind of way. Every third word was a barb, and Thoros, who did not consider himself particularly easily intimidated, was nonetheless relieved when she departed, Loras in tow.

“Do NOT steal my mother’s ring,” Mace growled, still shaken from the encounter.

“Of course not,” Thoros patted him on the back. That would be ridiculous. Think how much trouble he could get in. “YOU’ll steal the ring.”

Mace tried to protest, but Thoros raised his voice to talk over him.

“Ned, tell Robert he’ll have a lovely ring. It’s taken care of,” Thoros said firmly.

Ned shot him a relieved look and hurried off, probably to continue the hunt for Robert.

Thoros looked over at Mace.

“You can’t make me do it,” Mace sulked. “I won’t.” 

Thoros took another swig from his flask and considered his dilemma.

How to convince a guy whose primary character trait was a groveling fear of his mother that he needed to cross his mother?

What Mace really needed, Thoros decided, was a hug and a slug of whiskey. Metaphorical hug. Literal whiskey.

He put on his best ‘I’m a bartender and that’s basically a therapist’ face. 

“So how have you been Mace?”

“Well Loras got into a fight with another boy at daycare, and Alerie thinks they don’t provide enough supervision. She thinks we should take my mother up on an offer of a full time nanny, but I think it’s important for Loras to get socialization with other children his own age and mother says—“

“Wait,” Thoros stopped him. “That’s how Loras is. I want to know how you are.”

“Me?” Mace stared at him, genuinely baffled.

“Did your mother find out about the tattoo?” Thoros prodded, looking for some kind of resentment that he could turn into a grand gesture of defiance like say stealing Olenna Tyrell’s wedding ring.

“Oh almost immediately,” Mace swallowed. “She knew before I even landed in Highgarden. She goes over her credit card statements like a hawk. And my credit card statements like a... super hawk.”

“Was she upset?”

“It really doesn’t bear dwelling on,” Mace shuddered. “Certain things were said that I really couldn’t bring myself to repeat.”

“It’s just a stupid tattoo, hasn’t she ever made a mistake?” Thoros waved his hand.

“Not ever I don’t think,” Mace said seriously.

“Doesn’t she know you’ll get it removed?” 

“She considers it indicative of one of my primary personal failings, which is that I’m too easily pushed around,” Mace explained.

“Ridiculous!” Thoros pushed.

“I know!” Mace quickly agreed.

“And the worst part is, it’s hypocritical! She complains about you being too easy to push around AS she pushes you around!”

“She’s always been like this,” Mace huffed. “Nothing was good enough unless it was her idea done her way.”

“It’s sad seeing somebody lacking such total self-awareness,” Thoros shook his head. 

“But she’ll never change.”

“Unless...” Thoros trailed off, pretending to hesitate.

“Unless what?”

“Well what if she had concrete proof that she was dead wrong about something? Like wouldn’t that at the very least give her a moment of reflection?”

“She’s never wrong about anything,” Mace sighed deeply. “It’s intolerable.”

“But she’s wrong about you,” Thoros elbowed him. “Obviously you’re not some spineless wimp who gets pushed around by his own mother.”

“I most certainly am not,” Mace puffed out his chest.

“What if you stood up to her? Said once and for all how you feel and get it off your chest? She would respect you for it, she would reconsider all these preconceived ideas, and think how great it would feel!”

Mace was slowly nodding along.

“It would feel great!”

“The most important thing is to make sure you have her attention though. You need to take her hands in your hands. You need to maintain eye contact. And when you apply pressure for emphasis, you need to slide her ring over the first knuckle and palm it.”

“Wait what?”

“Mace,” Thoros grabbed his hands. “Look at me.” Mace’s gaze skittered toward the floor but finally, reluctantly he looked up. “You need to do this. For Robert. For yourself. For your mother,” Thoros squeezed.

“I’ll mess it up, I mess everything up,” Mace fretted. 

“You won’t,” Thoros let go and tossed Mace’s ring in the air before catching it. “It’s remarkably easy.”

“Hey!” Mace stared at Thoros then down at his hand then back up. “That’s mine!”

“So it is,” Thoros slipped the ring onto his own finger. “Let’s practice.”

It took a solid twenty minutes before Mace was passable. Thoros was gambling on Olenna’s rather bony fingers and the fact that she would be so flabbergasted by Mace standing up to her.

“Time to find your mother,” Thoros said, conceding that this was probably as good as they were going to get in one lesson. He spotted Olenna Tyrell through a window mingling in the garden.

“Are you sure this will work?” Maced asked nervously as Thoros towed him along.

Not even slightly.

“Absolutely.”

They covertly watched from behind a tree as she embraced a middle-aged woman with an ample bosom, golden curls and a rather frightening black shawl who was obviously a Lannister. 

Now she moved on, like an angular bird of prey toward Tywin Lannister, insinuating herself between him and Steffon Baratheon. They drifted after, trying to keep several wedding guests away at all times. At one point, Thoros could have sworn she was glaring directly at them, and his throat felt unaccountably dry.

“I don’t have to tell her off in front of Tywin Lannister do I?” Mace had gone very sweaty.

“Of course not,” Thoros assured him. He wasn’t that heartless. “We’ll just wait this out.”

So they waited. 

“It’s just.. what do I say?” Mace fretted.

“You are an adult. You are capable of making your own decisions. Her constant interventions in your life do neither of you any favors,” Thoros said firmly.

Mace repeated this to himself, nodding along.

“And then?” He asked expectantly.

“Look, at some point this needs to come from you. It can’t sound rehearsed. And this is about you standing up for yourself, remember? Just start with that and then let the rest come from here,” Thoros poked Mace in the heart. Mace’s stomach growled and Mace looked down doubtfully.

“Just one more thing,” Thoros slung his arms around Mace’s broad frame. “The secret weapon,” he passed him the flask.

“It’s a wedding,” Mace whispered, looking around furtively.

“Do people not drink at weddings?” Thoros asked bemusedly.

“Well usually not before the ceremony!”

“I mean if you don’t want it...”

“No, wait,” Mace took a long swig. He straightened and smacked his lips. His face was flushed, his eyes were bright. A new man. 

Olenna meanwhile had leaned over to embrace Tywin, murmuring something in his ear, and then turning to kiss Steffon on the cheek. Steffon guffawed, Tywin harrumphed, Olenna floated back toward the entry courtyard.

“This is it,” Mace squared his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Olenna had picked up speed, so in their haste to keep up, some of the stealth necessarily fell by the wayside. 

Mace was puffing slightly when they reached the valet stand, only for Thoros to spot Olenna slipping in the main sept. 

“There!”

They hurried after, barely catching a glimpse of her leaving the reception hall, then another sighting as she rounded a bend.

Thoros was so focused on not losing her ahead of him and not losing Mace behind him, that he barely had time to ponder where on earth she was going. She was well into the administrative side now, messy offices, outdated computers abounding. Had Thoros had any modicum of nostalgia for the Red Temple, he might have felt it now. As it was he didn’t, if anything it annoyed him, and he took the stairs she’d walked up two at a time, only speeding up as he turned a corner at the top, pausing briefly to stick his head in an open door and—

Olenna Tyrell stood waiting in what appeared to be a library, arms crossed.

“Do I know you?” She said in a voice that might have cut glass.

“Doubtful,” Thoros said, never having been so relieved of that fact.

“Can we just stop for half a second,” Mace panted as he puffed into the room. Then he saw his mother and gasped.

“Mace, thank the gods, I was worried I’d have to deal with your scruffy friend. Just like you to be following me around all morning and then the second I want you you’ve evaporated,” Olenna tsked.

Mace blinked at her, utterly befuddled.

“Here take this,” she handed him her handbag.

“Mother I need to talk to you,” Mace protested, trying to regain momentum, even as he took the bag.

“Not a good time,” Olenna studied her reflection in an antique mirror and fluffed her hair.

“No, Mother, it really can’t wait! I—“

“Oh and take this,” Olenna took off her wedding ring and dropped it in the purse.

Mace stopped, mouth open.

“You’ll catch flies dear. Now off you go,” Olenna waved an imperious hand. 

Seeing as Mace appeared frozen in place, Thoros hastily grabbed him by the elbow and towed him out into the hall, shutting the door to the library behind them.

“I don’t understand,” Mace stared at the ring in his hand. 

“Do we need to?” Thoros shrugged, plucking it from Mace’s grasp and depositing it in his pocket. “It’s for Robert after all. Things always have a way of working out for him.”

“But I didn’t get to stand up for myself! I didn’t get to tell my mother what I really thought!” Mace protested.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Thoros patted him on the shoulder, then heard the familiar creak of footsteps coming up the same staircase they had just used.

“Hide,” Thoros said immediately, a lifetime spent prowling parts of the temple he wasn’t allowed to access kicking in. He shoved Mace into a coat closet and followed after, frantically trying to drag the sliding door shut before the creaking stopped. As it was, they still had about half an inch of daylight, and Thoros braced for a scolding from some arthritic septon.

Instead, they had half an inch of daylight to watch Tywin Lannister round the bend, look in both directions, and knock on the library door twice.

Half an inch of daylight to watch the door swing open and a slightly bony and definitely ringless hand grab Tywin’s lapels and pull him in.

Half an inch of daylight to watch the door click quietly shut.

There was a brief pause.

“...Mommy?” Mace said in a shaky uncertain voice.

Thoros pushed the sliding closet door back open.

“Well now that we’ve gotten the ring we can go back to the party and find Ned,” Thoros said briskly.

Mace sat down on the carpet, staring at the library door.

“I mean there’s really no point to linger here,” Thoros tried again, nudging him with his foot.

Mace looked at the door unblinking.

“In fact I would definitely leave before they finish um whatever it is they’re doing in there,” Thoros coughed. “Which could obviously be anything.”

No reply.

Thoros shrugged, and started down the steps.

You can’t just leave him there! A voice that sounded eerily like Beric interjected. Thoros ground his teeth.

“I thought you weren’t coming early,” he snarked to nobody in particular as he headed back up, grabbed Mace’s arm and twisted it behind him.

He found Ned methodically opening and closing the confessionals.

“Ned!” Thoros released Mace from his forced march through the sept. “Guess what!”

“You found Cersei?!” Ned blurted.

“What?” Thoros paused stymied.

“Oh um... nothing. I wanted to ask her something?” Ned looked shifty.

“Well forget that, look what we got!” Thoros presented the ring proudly.

“Uh thanks,” Ned pocketed it. “I’m sure Robert will be relieved we have something.” He went back to opening confessionals.

Thoros blinked. He didn’t need a medal or something but some kind of recognition that he had performed a nigh-impossible task and had kind of saved the day and was the most amazingly awesome dude ever...

Mace sat back down on the carpet. Ned continued to ignore him.

“So did you find Robert?” Thoros asked at length. 

“With Stannis in the reception hall,” Ned jerked a thumb.

Thoros decided to find somebody who appreciated his talents.

“THOROS!” Robert bounded over when he saw him and nearly flattened him with the force of his hug. “I’m getting married!”

“Hells yeah you are!” Thoros grinned. This was more like it.

“Thoros!” Stannis grabbed his arm. “Thank the gods you showed up.”

Wow even Stannis? This was the kind of acclaim he deserved.

“There’s been a um... hiccup? On the bride’s side. And Ned asked me to watch Robert but I need to warn Oberyn that his brother’s car is um...”

“Tragically deceased,” Robert interjected mournfully. “Slain. Vanquished. Murdered. Cut down in its prime.”

“Right, yes those things,” Stannis shot a glance at Robert. “Can you stay with him?”

“You just want me to hang out with Robert until the ceremony starts?” Thoros repeated back, confused.

“Yes,” Stannis swallowed. “Just you know, keep him busy.”

“Yeah sure,” Thoros shrugged. He’d just spent an hour with Mace Tyrell. This would be easy compared to that. And he already knew what they could do to pass the time...


	43. Brienne (Shotgun! 6 of 12)

In the span of thirty minutes, Brienne had covered the entire first floor of the Sept of Baelor, the gardens, the courtyard and the seven shrines that dotted the grounds, and she had not so much as a single golden hair to show for it.

“I called her, texted her, Ravyned her, left messages on her Ravengram, LinkedIn and Facebook pages,” Jaime rested his entire golden head on her shoulder. “I called two of her burner phones, I know she has more, but I don’t know the numbers. What if she was hit by a car?! What if she was hit by a car and has amnesia and is wandering through the streets of King’s Landing?!”

“You’re not helping,” Brienne scolded, but she rested her own head on his anyway. Engaged to be engaged. Gods she loved this man.

“What if Cassana knocked her out and shoved her in a locked room somewhere?” Jaime asked the world at large. 

“She wouldn’t do that,” Brienne protested tepidly.

“Stannis shoved me in a locked room somewhere,” Jaime pointed out.

Brienne was saved from having to respond by the approach of Cassana Baratheon in the flesh.

“She’s come to gloat. Or to finish the job,” Jaime hissed.

“She has not!” Brienne whispered back out of the side of her mouth. Out of the front of her mouth, she managed a wan smile.

“Brienne dear, I hear you’re the maid of honor,” Cassana trilled.

The less charitable part of Brienne’s mind (the part that sounded uncannily like Jaime) noted that Cassana hadn’t forgotten her name since she’d been told Brienne was a sapphire magnate.

“Guilty as charged,” Brienne admitted.

“She’s the guilty one!” Jaime growled under his breath. She stepped on his foot.

“Finally, someone who can get things done around here!” Cassana put her hand on her hip. “We need to talk about my solo.”

“Your solo?” Brienne repeated cautiously.

“Yes, lights and sound. I want the entire dining room to go dark. The audience buzzes. Hold it for exactly three counts and then a single spotlight. I’m on the dance floor. You’ll want a warm light dear, too artificial and I just wash out. This dress needs to pop you understand?” Cassana struck a pose, showcasing the white silk dress that continued to look uncomfortably like a wedding dress. “The spotlight should follow me as I serenade the guests, moving from table to table. Check the sound systems ahead of time, I despise when there’s too much base. You can manage that, can’t you?” 

“Mmm,” Brienne said neutrally.

“I’ll finish with Robert and Cersei of course, the audience will eat it up. And then as everyone applauds, I move back to the dance floor. Then it’s time for my encore.”

“Your encore?” Brienne managed faintly.

“A good performer never leaves their audience wanting,” Cassana winked. “Kisses darlings, I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

Brienne and Jaime looked at each other.

“We have got to find Cersei,” Brienne said hollowly.

“Only she can stop this menace,” Jaime agreed.

“Maybe one of the other girls can help,” Brienne offered.

They found Catelyn cornered by a reporter.

“And what do you say to allegations that your husband actually fathered Ashara Dayne’s love child, not MP Brandon Stark,” the reporter shoved a tape recorder in her face.

“I can’t discuss this!” Catelyn tried to get away.

“Are you admitting it? Is that why your marriage was allegedly on the rocks?” The reporter followed after.

Brienne was about to wade in, pink tulle dress or no, when Varys rounded the bend with two security guards.

“Arrest that man!” He cried, pointing at the reporter dramatically. The reporter gulped and made a break for it as Varys rushed to Catelyn’s side, apologies abounding.

“Maybe Lysa...” Brienne mumbled.

They found Lysa in one of the picturesque grottos, sitting on a stone bench, cell phone pinned between ear and shoulder as she viciously pulled apart a flower.

“I don’t see HOW I could have misconstrued what I saw Petyr! No, this time YOU LISTEN TO ME! We are done! I never want to see you again! And you’d better stop spreading those slimy rumors about Ned and Cat or... or... or my BOYFRIEND is going to beat you up!”

Jaime and Brienne backed slowly away.

“Melisandre’s usually good in a crisis,” Brienne ventured. 

“Good thinking,” Jaime said, eyes round. 

Melisandre was still where Brienne had left her, in the closet in the bridesmaids’ staging room.

“Mel?” Brienne knocked hesitantly. “I’m in a bit of a pickle and I was hoping you could maybe...”

“Ta da!” Melisandre flung the door open.

Brienne goggled. Was that even the same dress?!?! The same color surely, but...

What had once been crinkly layer after crinkly layer of tulle had been stripped away, revealing a silky and form fitting sheathe rather like a negligee that clung sinfully to Melisandre’s curves. Why you could even see her... Brienne hastily clapped a hand over Jaime’s eyes.

“Nice dress,” Jaime said from behind Brienne’s hand.

“You can’t wear that!” Brienne squeaked furiously. 

“What I think you meant to say was, ‘Melisandre you look ravishing. I could tear that dress right off you’,” Melisandre sniffed. “That’s too kind Brienne. But it took ages and there’s only twenty minutes before the ceremony so...”

“Twenty minutes?!” Jaime shouted from behind the hand.

“I can see your nipples!” Brienne yelled. “Take it off!”

“Shan’t,” Melisandre said haughtily and waltzed out.

“Twenty minutes,” Jaime said dully when Brienne removed her impromptu blindfold.

Brienne looked at him. He looked back.

“At least we have each other...” Jaime ventured.

Brienne tried to smile. He was so sweet.

“...Until Cassana kills us,” Jaime finished.

“Stop,” Brienne groaned. “Please don’t make it worse. I don’t know if I can handle things getting worse.”

“Hi,” Thoros Asshai knocked on the open door, sticking his head partly in. “Um is Melisandre here?”

Brienne let out a deep breath. Finally. A way to snip one of her many loose threads.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” She blurted.

Thoros squinted at her.

“...why?” He asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.

“Melisandre’s shredded her bridesmaid’s dress into something that looks like a teddy, Cersei will be furious if she finds it. Can you make her at least put on a shawl over it?” Brienne asked hopefully.

“Huh,” Thoros rocked on his feet. “I could possibly help you with that problem. If...”

Brienne could have cried. Why was there always an if?!

“you help me with Robert.”

What?!

“What?!” Jaime growled next to her. “What has that imbecile done?!”

“Uh let’s not be too hasty to assign blame, which probably doesn’t need to really be given out at all,” Thoros scratched his head. “Highly counterproductive and all...”

“Fine,” Jaime crossed his arms and glowered. “What have YOU done?!”

Thoros straightened for a second like they might get into it, and then collapsed into his usual half-slouch.

“Better to just show you,” he said glumly. Why did Brienne really not like the sound of that?

They trailed Thoros down the hall to an area that was quite clearly off limits to visitors, and Brienne would have made some protest, if Thoros were not already pushing the door open into what looked like somebody’s study.

“Tarth!” Robert exclaimed exuberantly, and then Brienne was being crushed into a hug. She staggered backward, partly with alarm and partly because Robert had immediately shifted all of his wait onto her, and appeared to be using her as a means of staying upright.

“Is he...” Brienne looked at Thoros.

“Completely shit-faced,” Thoros admitted.

“Jaime! My brother in law! My brother from another mother! My braime? But that would be both of you...”

“You idiot,” Jaime said. Brienne couldn’t really see him past Robert’s head lolling on her shoulder, but she assumed the remark was addressed to Thoros. “I might be impressed honestly. I’m not sure anybody has ever outdrank Robert before. I didn’t think it could be done. But if anybody could do it, I suppose I would have put my money on you. You stupid shortsighted irresponsible...”

“Brienne,” Robert interrupted Jaime’s rant, unfocused blue eyes suddenly locking on hers.

“Hi Robert,” Brienne said politely from millimeters away.

“Brienne, I don’t have feelings for you.”

“Oh,” Brienne blinked. “Well that’s good.”

Robert nodded in solemn agreement, the movement threatening to send them both toppling over.

“It is good. I love Cersei,” he said. Brienne frantically tried to look over his shoulder to summon a rescue from this conversation.

“...an hour before his wedding?! WHY?! WHY would you ever think that was a good idea?! And don’t even get me started on...”

“Cersei told me you had a crush on me,” Robert continued, and Brienne with a prickling sense of horror suddenly realized that this was not one of Robert’s usual non-sequiturs.

“Oh no,” Brienne breathed.

“That’s what I said,” Robert agreed. “Definitely Renly.”

“What?” Brienne frowned.

“The reason you were always hanging around our house was because you had a crush on Renly. Stannis and I both thought so.”

“What?!” Jaime suddenly paused in his telling off of Thoros.

“Brienne always had a crush on Renly,” Robert repeated again. “I thought maybe she’d have a chance because she kind of looks like a guy? Especially back in high school? Remember your hair was super short and you wore that ugly lacrosse sweatshirt all the time and...”

“Thank you Robert,” Brienne tried to push him off but he only held on tighter.

“But Renly’s just super gay. Way gayer than Thoros. Thoros, are you sure you’re gay? And then they just became really good friends. At least that’s what Stannis and I think,” Robert finished. Jaime stared. Brienne held her breath.

“And I told Cersei that, and she said nuh-uh, she was right and you’d said as much to her.”

...and there it was. Brienne’s stupid lie to get Cersei off her back, come full circle back to the two men who Brienne would have least wanted to hear it.

Robert at least seemed serenely unphased. Jaime, in contrast, seemed like he’d be catching flies any second. (Thoros had taken a seat in an armchair and was looking thoroughly entertained.)

“So just in case, I thought you should know,” Robert explained. “I don’t have feelings for you.”

He patted her head clumsily.

“I don’t have feelings for you either,” Brienne assured him through gritted teeth.

“I knew it was Renly,” Robert nodded sagely. He turned toward Jaime. “So I think you’re safe. Brienne and I don’t have feelings for each other and Renly is super gay. I don’t know about Stannis though. Brienne, do you have feelings for Stannis?”

“I DON’T HAVE FEELINGS FOR STANNIS!” Brienne squawked, at last managing to shove him off her. He windmilled lazily before catching Jaime’s arm for balance. “OR RENLY!” She added for good measure.

“Are you sure?”

“YES! THE ONLY PERSON I LOVE IS JAIME!”

Thoros wolf whistled, and Brienne shot him a look. 

“Why don’t you explain exactly what happened here,” she said frostily, as Robert tried to give Jaime a hug.

“I’m not sure,” Thoros admitted. “Stannis asked me to hang out with him before the wedding because they’d crashed their car. We were just doing some shots—like three or four, seriously, it was nothing but a buzz for this guy, I’ve been drinking with him for years, and the next thing I know he can barely stand upright. You have to help—if Cersei finds out that I got Robert hammered at the wedding, I don’t like my chances at survival. I promise I’ll get Mel to find a sweater or something, just fix him please?”

“I don’t know how to fix him,” Brienne groaned. “Cersei would know but I can’t find her anywhere! And now the wedding is starting in twenty minutes, we don’t have a bride and the groom is hammered!”

“Did you look in the second floor bathroom?” Robert asked sleepily from where he was now curling up in a recliner.

“...what?” Brienne asked.

“Like in high school, that’s where she goes when she’s upset,” Robert trailed off with a massive yawn.

“This is a sept, it doesn’t have a second floor,” Jaime broke in testily.

“Yeah it does,” Thoros frowned. “I was just up there, the staircase is further back in this admin wing. If you turn left, you can’t miss it.”

Jaime and Brienne looked at each other.

“Go,” Jaime waved his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on all of... this,” he gestured at a now snoring Robert.

“I’ll find her,” Brienne promised. She hurried toward the door. 

Sure enough, there was a staircase. Once on the second floor, Brienne frantically scanned the corridor. There! Past a closet and several closed doors, were the instantly recognizable symbols of a male and female silhouette.

With a deep breath, Brienne pushed into the women’s restroom. A cursory look under the stalls revealed it was empty.

Unless...

A sudden twinge of suspicion and the tickle of a memory of her own from high school and Brienne was pushing in the doors one by one. When she came to the exact middle, it held fast.

“Cersei?” Brienne asked, knocking. “Cersei, it’s Brienne, open up.”

No response. All the same, Brienne could practically feel the presence of someone sitting quietly on the other side.

“Cersei Lannister, open up before I knock the door down,” Brienne growled.

There was another pause.

Begrudgingly, the door clicked and slowly swung outward.

Cersei sat huddled on the toilet, dress neatly folded under her. Her eyes looked a little red, but her makeup remained flawless. Brienne wasn’t even sure she would have known something was wrong except... 

The posture. Cersei always seemed to take up more space than such a slender person should be capable of. Whether it was her looks or her ego or the buoyant energy that seemed to allow her to sail through life impervious, when Cersei walked into a room, you noticed. This person, this pretty fragile facsimile of Cersei sitting shoulders slumped in a bathroom stall, eyes skittering anywhere but Brienne’s gaze, had none of that.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Brienne said awkwardly. The understatement of the century. 

Cersei did not react in the slightest.

“Cersei, you need to get downstairs,” Brienne tried again. “Petyr told the press that Ned and Ashara had a love child together and Cat’s being hounded by reporters. Melisandre ran her dress through a shredder, Robert had too much to drink and Cassana is wearing a white dress!”

At that last remark, Cersei’s lip twitched in the faintest tremor of a sneer, but she remained unresponsive.

“Cersei, I don’t know what to do,” Brienne tried to swallow the bubble of panic rising in her throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cersei finally said, voice quiet and thin. “I can’t do this. Send them home.”

“Send them home?” Brienne repeated back, resisting the urge to strangle her. “Why?!”

“It’s all wrong. I’m supposed to have a baby girl. Genna Joanna Lannister,” Cersei looked up at her. “And now it’s a boy. I don’t know how to have a baby boy, Brienne. The nursery colors are wrong! I pre-enrolled a little girl in the best school in Oldtown and I can’t change the application, I’ll have to withdraw it! He doesn’t even have a name! I don’t know how to have a baby boy, Brienne, I can’t do it, I can’t!”

Cersei’s breathing was getting shallower, her thing shoulders literally shaking. She was practically hyperventilating, and Brienne realized that if she didn’t get control of the situation now, it would be lost. She took a deep breath and sent a prayer to the Mother for forgiveness.

Brienne smacked Cersei across the cheek.

Cersei broke off mid-spiral and stared. A red mark was blossoming on her face, Brienne noticed with a wince. Well no going back now.

“Did you just... hit me?” Cersei blinked.

“Yes. And I’ll do it again if you don’t get out of that stall this instant,” Brienne said evenly.

Their eyes locked.

Mutely Cersei stood, and Brienne stepped out of the way to allow her to exit.

“Now eat this,” Brienne pulled a power bar out of her handbag. “And don’t fake eat it like you did with that burger. I’m going to sit here and watch you until every crumb is gone.”

Cersei looked at the bar in her hand as if Brienne had handed her a gun.

“EAT!” Brienne barked in her best colonel-general voice.

Cersei hastily began to unwrap it.

“Now listen,” Brienne poked her. “I have seen you blackmail and bully and just... bend reality to your will. You have never let anybody stop you ever. If you want to resubmit your application to this school, who the fuck is going to stop you, Cersei Lannister?! Nursery paint schemes?! Are you kidding?! It’ll be blue before you get back from your honeymoon. And why do you even want to name your baby after your Aunt Genna?! She’s a pretentious cow who thinks I’m an embarrassment to the Lannister family name,” Brienne huffed, crossing her arms defensively.

“What? No she doesn’t,” Cersei frowned, stopping mid-chew.

“She does! I heard her at your engagement party! Jaime’s shaming the Lannister name according to her,” Brienne rebutted. 

“Don’t be silly, Aunt Genna wasn’t talking about you. She was upset that Jaime left you alone. It’s very rude to invite a guest and then spend the entire evening ignoring them,” Cersei explained, before swallowing and taking another bite.

“Oh,” Brienne said, a tad stymied. “Well, I guess that’s alright then. I mean you could still name your baby after Genna without naming him Genna. Like Genner or uh Genes or um Gendry...”

“Gendry,” Cersei said slowly. “That’s a nice name.”

“The point is, the baby being a boy instead of a girl... that’s just a new plot twist. A challenge. You live for those! You’ll find a way to use this to your advantage and be an incredible mom, and win at that too, just like you win at everything else. But first you have to win at this. Your wedding. Because I did not come this far and put up with this much from you to stop inches short of the finish line. You are going to find a way to make this perfect or you are going to find a way to live with it,” Brienne said sternly. “Or so help me seven, I will drag you to the altar myself.”

There was a pause as Cersei chewed and Brienne held her breath.

“I’m done,” Cersei said, holding up the empty wrapper.

“And?” Brienne ventured hopefully.

“I have a fucking wedding to fix,” Cersei turned, inspecting her reflection grimly. 

“Good,” Brienne sighed in relief. “Because I don’t think I really had it in me to drag you to the altar.”

“There’s just one thing,” Cersei continued to scrutinize the mirror.

“What?” Brienne asked nervously.

“You’ll have to do it again.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You’ll have to slap me again. Left cheek this time please. It has to be even, otherwise it’ll look like some kind of makeup snafu.”

“Sorry?”

“Really Brienne, if you can’t manage a tiny old slap, I’ll just have to find...”

SMACK!


	44. Melisandre (Shotgun! 7 of 12)

Melisandre floated through one of the reception rooms, chin lifted haughtily and face impassive, though she could feel the men staring and the women glaring.

Gods it felt good to get this one tiny twist of revenge. To watch this one petty little plan of Cersei’s go awry. In fighting the tradition of the ugly bridesmaid’s dress, she was striking a blow against the wedding industrial complex, against tradition, against the patriarchy, against stupid weddings themselves!

Melisandre spun giddily, and the already short dress fluttered even higher. Somebody somewhere have a scandalized gasp. She ignored them, riding high as a crusader for social justice, a warrior who didn’t bow to silly things like what people thought, who let nobody stand in her way and...

Someone grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.

“Ow ow ow stop it!” Melisandre yelped.

“Change your dress back,” Thoros growled.

“Never!” Melisandre hissed defiantly. Thoros twisted again and began to march her to a side room.

“Ow! Where is your—“ Melisandre tried unsuccessfully to stomp on his foot, “chivalry?”

“I think,” Thoros broke off to block a flying elbow to the face, “you burned it up with my baseball card collection when I was eight.”

He released her into the room, slamming the door and blocking it with his body. Melisandre glared at him.

“I’m making a political statement against weddings!”

“You’re making an ass of yourself!”

“You wouldn’t understand! You’ve never believed in anything in your entire life!”

“I believe you’re making an ass of yourself!”

“Why can’t you just once believe in a cause bigger than your next paycheck?!”

“Why can’t you just believe in things like a normal amount?! Most people would agree that it’s silly to break the bank on a party, but only you would conclude therefore weddings are evil and must be ruined at all costs,” Thoros pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at her.

“Cersei must be stopped!”

“But can’t you stop her in some fashion that doesn’t get Brienne in trouble?!”

Melisandre frowned at the idea than brushed it off.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not her fault.”

“And Cersei is so careful to only blame the people at fault,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Well... well why do you care anyway?!” Melisandre snapped, suddenly feeling like she was holding a losing hand.

“Not that it’s any of your business but...” Thoros mumbled something.

Melisandre raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t catch that,” she drawled.

“I might have accidentally gotten Robert hammered and Brienne promised to fix it up with Cersei if you wear the old dress.” Thoros repeated louder, looking uncomfortable.

Melisandre felt the smile tugging her lip upward.

“See that sounds like a you problem,” she gave a languid shoulder shrug.

Thoros narrowed his eyes at her.

“Okay, two things. First, remember how I told you not to fuck with your crazy ex and you ignored me and I ended up in a hospital and we got kicked out of our apartment?!”

Melisandre squirmed. 

“Yes, but you can’t just use that as an excuse to get your way for the rest of your life!”

“Watch me,” Thoros leaned back against the door. “And second, I refuse to believe that anyone, even you, feels THAT strongly about the sanctity of marriage being poisoned by capitalism. So what the fuck is going on?”

Melisandre opened her mouth to deliver an impassioned harangue on what it meant to pledge one’s eternal love to another human being and the perversion of the oldest oaths known to humanity into a spectacle of sound and fury signifying nothing. 

“A priest said that Stannis and I were ready to get married,” is what came out instead.

“The nerve,” Thoros said drily.

“Shut up! It just took me by surprise. Marriage isn’t something I ever thought about being for me.”

She had always wanted to be a priestess in the Red Temple, for as far back as she could remember. And then there had been... the unpleasantness... but she had still been sure she was destined for something great. She was going to go to medical school and be a doctor and save lives. She would fight the good fight, and the small domestic blisses of wifehood seemed rather dull and uninteresting in comparison. They were for sensible people like Catelyn Tully. Melisandre didn’t do sensible. She did grand.

“So it’s not for you,” Thoros shrugged. “There’s no law that you HAVE to get married.”

“But when he said it, a tiny part of me was happy,” Melisandre admitted, fingers digging half-moons into her palms. It had taken her aback, that little bubble of relief and excitement, just the briefest mental picture of Stannis standing across from her looking nervous and shy and happy, their hands joined forever.

“Okay...” Thoros dragged out. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re allowed to change your mind?”

“I HATE WEDDINGS!” Melisandre blurted, and pushed past him for the door.

“Are you going to change?”

“I WILL CONSIDER IT!” She slammed the door in his face.

She was of course, but only because she didn’t want Brienne to get in trouble and because Thoros could be so stubborn and unreasonable.

With a huff, she returned to her closet where she had abandoned the outer layer of tulle and began the grim work of reattaching it. 

She didn’t need marriage. She didn’t even want marriage! She and Stannis had never talked about it, and there was no rush anyway, and the fact that the thought of Stannis standing at the altar waiting for her inspired completely unwelcome butterflies meant nothing, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, at all.

Melisandre emerged from the closet, once more clad in a pink confetti disaster. She stoically turned from the mirror to avoid looking at her reflection, reached to open the door and nearly got bowled over by Brienne running in.

“Ta da,” Melisandre struck a pose.

“I need red nail polish!” Brienne blurted, picking up the makeup artist’s bag and emptying it across the table where she’d been working. “Or like red wine I guess? But thicker? Something red that splashes and will absolutely not come out?”

Melisandre pouted slightly. Didn’t Brienne even appreciate the sacrifices she made for their friendship?!

“I changed,” she hinted, just in case Brienne hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah that’s great,” Brienne said, moving on to Lysa’s purse and emptying it into the pile.

“Like you asked me to,” Melisandre reminded her.

Brienne paused and looked up, her normally tentative smile now pressed into a stern line.

“I need something red that splashes, four shots of espresso and a bagel, and then I need to convince Lysa that she should invite Petyr to the afterparty. You can help me or not help me, but I do not have time to coddle your ego for doing something you should have already done to begin with.”

Melisandre blinked. Who was this girl? Bossy, confident, on a mission.... kind of hot actually. 

“What I meant to say,” she cleared her throat after a pause, trying to salvage her dignity. “Was that I will go find the caterers and get the espressos and the bagel.”

She came back with the espressos and the bagel AND a bowl of cold marinara sauce. If that wasn’t worth just a smidgeon of gratitude...

She found Brienne in the library, conferring with the bride-to-be in a corner. Robert was chasing Ned around the room, trying to bear hug him, while her brother and Jaime watched in apathy and malevolent glee respectively.

“You’re my oldest and dearest friend Ned!” Robert boomed as he vaulted a couch and Ned was forced to make an end run around the far corner.

“Careful Stark, I think he’s gaining!” Jaime shouted cheerfully.

“You could at least try to be helpful,” Melisandre said disapprovingly to Thoros.

“As opposed to running around half-naked?” Thoros yawned.

“I changed,” she sniffed. “And look. Espresso and a bagel. The ultimate hangover cure. Very helpful. If we can just get him to slow down enough to take it.”

Ned rounded the bend, Robert hot on his heels. As Ned scampered by, Thoros stuck out a discrete foot, sending Robert flying.

“See? Helpful,” Thoros grinned.

Melisandre rolled her eyes. 

“Now if you can keep him down.”

It took Thoros hanging on to Robert’s right arm for dear life, and Ned doing the same to his right, while Melisandre fed him bits of bagel like a baby bird (a very very large baby bird) to effectuate the Sober-Robert-Up plan.

“You know I’ve always dreamed of being hand fed by a sexy redhead,” Robert commented, as he obediently took the next bite. “Didn’t really think it would happen ten minutes before my wedding.”

Melisandre gritted her teeth, and forced another sip of coffee into him.

“Also when I retell this story, it’s going to be strawberries dipped in chocolate, okay?”

Melisandre glared at Thoros to smack his gross friend, but her brother was currently trying to escape a one-armed headlock. She turned instead to Cersei who was entirely preoccupied.

“Ten minutes before the ceremony? My goodness! Jaime, take over for Melisandre, I need her elsewhere.”

Jaime had been lounging on the couch chuckling to himself, but sat upright looking disgruntled.

“Melisandre!” Cersei snapped her fingers impatiently.

With a shrug, she stood up and handed Jaime the cup of espresso and the unenviable task of force feeding it to Robert.

“Wait, this wasn’t in my dream!” Melisandre heard before Cersei shut the door behind them.

“So where are we going?” Melisandre asked hesitantly.

Twenty minutes later, Melisandre was wearing a caterer’s uniform, and sashaying through the crowd with a plate of tumblers filled with watered down marinara sauce.

“The Bloody Marys are for later,” she repeated with a smile as she warded off the seventh guest to make a grab for one. She had her eye on one very specific target.

“Don’t you think they should have started seating us already? It’s one thing if somebody like me keeps her audience waiting, that’s to be expected. But for a wedding? Who exactly does little Miss Lannister think she is?” A woman in a white dress with tumble of dark curls laughed. 

Melisandre took a moment to eye Stannis’ mother, a woman she’d met on only a handful of occasions and had a deep distaste for. Brienne had been worried that Cassandra would recognize her. In a waitstaff uniform, Melisandre highly doubted it.

Then she took a few more brisk steps into the crowd and before Cassandra had time to register her presence, she stutter-stepped to mime losing her balance, and tipped the entire tray directly on to the unsuspecting woman.

It was as if time froze for a second, the glasses filled with goopy red liquid sloshing through the air, the expression of horror marring Cassandra’s lovely features, and above all, that dress, that perfectly white dress, shining like the very embodiment of everything Melisandre hated about weddings and about Cassandra Baratheon, rolled into one.

Then several things happened in rapid succession.

There was the sharp crack of glass smashing against the floor, the decidedly unmusical howl of rage from Cassana, and then a rather theatrical gasp from Cersei who had coincidentally been walking by with her brother Tyrion.

“My dress!” Cassana shrieked, the pristine silk now spattered with red. 

“Your dress!” Cersei declaimed, grabbing the nearest fabric at hand (coincidentally Tyrion’s tie) and frantically dabbing at it.

“You!” Cassan whirled on Melisandre, who kept a politely apologetic smile fixed on her face.

“Maybe some water?” Cersei dunked the tie in a nearby glass before resuming dabbing.

“Me,” Melisandre’s apologetic smile became a little wider.

“Glak,” said Tyrion, clawing at his throat and trying to release the tie that Cersei was slowing strangling him with.

There was a sudden amplified crescendo of wind chimes, and the brief feedback of a microphone turning on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you could make your way into the Great Sept, the ceremony is about to begin.” Brienne announced, her voice low and confident.

“My dress,” Cassana whispered, once more.

“My tie!” Tyrion wailed, having finally gotten free of his noose. Cersei absently handed it back to him, now soiled and limp. He tried to click the duckies on, but there was only a sad spark from the wiring.

“I believe my Aunt Gemma has something you can wear over it,” Cersei tugged Cassana’s arm gently.

“Best just trash it,” Melisandre patted Tyrion on the head. “No tie is a sexier look anyway. And that Stokeworth girl has been eyeing you since she got here.”

“Which one?” Tyrion’s head shot up, the tie falling to the floor.

Melisandre deposited it and the tray in a garbage on the way back to her changing room.

She found the other girls looking ready, if humming with a restless energy.

“Petyr said yes of course, but I can’t think why she wants him there after all he’s done,” Lysa was huffing to Catelyn.

“As long as you keep him far far away from me,” Catelyn said grimly.

“How did it go?” Brienne blurted upon seeing Melisandre.

“Perfectly,” Cersei answered for her as she entered the room. Dewey eyed angel she might look, but the effect was rather spoiled by the evil laugh she proceeded to give.

“Robert was much calmer when he left to get ready,” Brienne assured her.

“I texted what you told me and Petyr is coming to the after party,” Lysa chipped in. 

“How are you feeling? If you need anything up to and including a getaway car, we’re here,” Catelyn said firmly.

“Places everyone!” A wedding minion hurried in, “the music’s starting!” 

“Get. Out.” Melisandre sent her scurrying. They all turned back to Cersei. Even Melisandre found, to her surprise, that she was holding her breath.

Cersei laughed that delicate bell-like laugh that Melisandre had always suspected was fake as hell (and, come to think of it, reminded her more than a little of Cassana’s laugh). 

“Don’t be silly, Catelyn, this is my dream come true.”

Catelyn lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. 

Cersei squared her shoulders.

“Fine. It’s not quite how I pictured it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to be perfect. Now do try to tuck those tummies in ladies and let’s knock them dead.”

Melisandre, as the least important and least socially connected bridesmaid, was positioned the furthest from the bride, and therefore had the unenviable task of leading the charge. Feeling an unaccustomed pang of nerves (she couldn’t believe she had changed back into this pink monstrosity for Brienne, she was getting soft in her old age) she turned the corner into hall of the Great Sept.

Across the entryway, Stannis turned in at the same time. Even with the gray suit and garish pink pocket square, he managed to look sober and serious. Until he looked up and saw her, trying to step daintily as she waded toward him through the thick folds of tulle.

There was the barest flicker of a twitch of his lip, and nobody else would have noticed, but Melisandre knew he was fighting a smile. Without moving a muscle of her otherwise pleasant expression, she narrowed her eyes at him.

As they met in the center of the hallway, preparing to walk forward past the long benches of guests to the altar, Stannis extended his arm. She took it.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, barely audible above the string quartet playing them in, and she elbowed him.

“Where have you been? My brother got Robert hammered, Brienne yelled at me, and I need to avoid your mother for like a year and you can never ask why,” she whispered through her teeth as they stepped forward. But even as she poured out her litany of woes, they seemed to melt away.

The afternoon light was streaming through the stained glass windows, casting the entire scene at the altar in a golden glow. Robert, dark hair a little tousled, but otherwise calm and alert, looked like some kind of storybook hero, riding off into the happily ever after.

Above them, in the great stone cathedral arches that vaulted overhead, hung a thousand amber orbs, catching the light and imbuing the hall below with an otherworldly feeling—as if they were walking below the evening sky of some distant planet.

Melisandre clutched Stannis’ arm just a little tighter, to feel more tethered to the here and now. Without looking at her, he moved his other hand on top of her own.

They walked up the stone steps to the altar, splitting gracefully as Stannis moved to stand behind Robert and Melisandre prepared to stand alone on the bride’s side. Robert broke his decorum to shoot them both a grin, looking a little nervous and more than a little excited. 

Melisandre, who mostly felt a tired exasperation with her boyfriend’s brother, couldn’t help but smile back. Lord of Light, he looked happy.

Renly and Lysa were next up the aisle, Renly managing to make his outfit look whimsical and stylish as always. Lysa’s fiery hair perfectly set off Renly’s dark locks and Melisandre couldn’t help but notice Jon Arryn, sitting in the second row, practically craning his neck to get a better look at her.

Then came Catelyn and Thoros. (Ned as best man, would walk down with Brienne.) Melisandre was amused to see Cat elbowing him to stand up straighter, and it was with visible relief that Thoros parted ways with her at the altar to stand by Renly.

Brienne and Ned might have been even more of an amusing pairing—Brienne had at least three inches on Ned but he was gamely holding his arm out and up to accommodate her, looking a bit as if he were miming a winged bird. But they both looked so grave and so terribly earnest... instead Melisandre felt another swell of fondness for the entire gathering.

Then at some hidden signal, the string quartet’s music faded away into a hush of silence.

From the bowels of the sept to the amber spheres above, the thick air practically vibrated with the sounds of the organ’s wedding march.

As one, hundreds of wedding guests rose to their feet. 

And even though Melisandre had literally seen her like TWO MINUTES AGO, such was the power of the moment that she found herself actually standing on her tiptoes to see.

Tywin Lannister escorted his daughter, back ramrod straight and his perpetual scowl eased into something close to neutral.

Next to him, one dainty hand on his arm, floated Cersei, a partial veil over her face that gestured at tradition while still allowing the guests to see each perfectly formed feature. She looked every bit as radiantly transformed as she had all day. But as her chin lifted and she saw Robert standing at the end of the aisle, she somehow... brightened? It wasn’t anything of substance, because her perfect smile had never wavered, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Tywin stopped crisply on his mark before the altar, with a posture that would have made a drill sergeant proud.

Robert stepped forward to lift the veil from over Cersei’s eyes, with a gentleness that Melisandre would not have suspected his burly frame to possess. They stood there, as Robert reached to clasp her hands, looking at each other like there was nobody there but them.

“Who comes before the Seven this day?” The High Septon asked, his voice querulous and thin but still with a reedy strength that carried it through the chamber.

“Cersei Lannister,” Tywin answered. “She comes to be wed. She begs the blessing of the gods.”

“Who comes to claim her?” The High Septon asked.

“Robert Baratheon,” Robert answered, still holding Cersei’s hands in his.

“Cersei Lannister, do you take this man?” The High Septon turned to her.

“I do,” she said, her gaze never leaving Robert’s.

“Very well,” the High Septon cleared his throat, trying to indicate that they should separate. When they paid him no mind, he continued. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity. Now look upon each other, and say the words.”

Together, Robert’s deep rumble and Cersei’s silvery laugh sounding utterly unalike but somehow right together, they began.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers” — “his” — “and she” — “he” — “is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

It was sickening really. All this nonsense about who claims her? Like she was some chattel to be bought and sold? Melisandre swallowed.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the High Septon intoned.

Robert dipped Cersei back to kiss her, one of her hands tangling in his pitch black hair. From around them, a thousand camera bulbs seemed to flash at once.

Helplessly, Melisandre felt her eyes slide to Stannis. He was looking back at her, and there was no trepidation in his gaze at all.

It was just too sickening for words. But all the same. All the same, if someday it happened to her... Robert hooked one arm around his bride and did a fist pump. The crowd laughed, and Cersei slapped him upside the head.

All the same, if it happened to her, Melisandre thought maybe she wouldn’t mind so much after all.


	45. Oberyn (Shotgun! 8 of 12)

The morning of the Lannister-Baratheon wedding had found Oberyn languidly doing laps in the infinity pool on the rooftop of his parents’ Kings Landing apartment building. 

It was an objectively perfect late summer day. The sky was blue, the water was warm, and Oberyn always enjoyed the occasional change in scenery. As much as he loved his brother and his sister-in-law, life in Sunspear could be stifling. And not just because of the heat.

His parents were in King’s Landing, this time of year, it was true, but his mother was tied up with politics and his father with their diverse business interests. Normally, that let him run wild in the capital with Elia. Not that Elia ran wild. It let him run wild with Elia laughing one step behind.

This time, Elia had arrived hand in hand with Arthur, the hand in question catching the light as the ring upon it dazzled.

The memory was enough for Oberyn to push off the edge of the pool hard, throwing himself into the next lap and churning the water with his displeasure.

Of course he liked Arthur. Had always liked Arthur. Arthur had been his friend before he’d been Elia’s! But Oberyn felt so... restless. During the wild week following the bachelor party, half drunk on the sweet meads of the south, he’d considered blowing off the wedding altogether and demanding that Captain Sara take him on as a deckhand. His nautical knowledge was sparse but he could think of other ways to... serve.

He smirked to himself in satisfaction. Captain Sara may have left for the high seas, but something told him that he hadn’t heard the last from her. He was sure she would find her way back into his life somehow.

Something had driven him to attend the wedding, maybe an idle desire to see this thing through, maybe a genuine concern about how Mace Tyrell was faring in the wake of the tattoo fiasco (for entirely inexplicable reasons Oberyn felt somewhat responsible) or just an itch for a change of scenery.

“Trying out for the Olympics?” Elia called as she stepped out onto the roof deck.

She was wearing a yellow sundress, her dark curls whipping around her face in the breeze. Oberyn felt simultaneous surges of affection and resentment.

“I think one Olympian is enough for the family,” he said drily, lifting himself onto the pool’s edge. Elia kicked off her sandals and sat next to him, her dangling into the water.

“You’ve been huffy about Arthur since even before the engagement. I thought you liked him,” she said reproachfully.

Oberyn turned to look back over the city so he would not have to meet those big brown eyes.

“Of course I like him,” he responded. “That doesn’t mean I have to like him taking you away from me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Elia smoothed his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. What would you do without me?”

“Don’t act like nothing’s changing. You’ll go home to Starfall now. You’ll have children who run around talking about ancient swords and practicing their side-stances. You’ll leave me with Doran and his disapproving glares.”

“You can come to Starfall. Run riot with Ashara and Lyanna, teach your nieces and nephews what it means to be a Martell.”

Oberyn made a disgruntled noise, but couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile. No nieces and nephews of his would be running around with poncey epées. He would teach them all the dirtiest fighting tricks he knew.

“You’ve all become boring,” he accused his sister in an attempt to retake the offensive.

“I was always boring,” Elia laughed. “It never bothered you before. And so was Arthur. Are you sure you’re not talking about Robert now?”

“When he was the quarterback of the Suns, I once saw him work his way through five cheerleaders in one night at the same party.”

“Charming,” Elia sighed.

“How does a guy like that see the appeal of marriage?”

“And not you, you mean?” Elia cocked her head.

Oberyn grunted and flicked water at her to avoid responding.

“Perhaps I’m the wrong person to ask, since I always did see the attraction. But I know who the right person to ask is. And just because an ending is traditional or popular doesn’t make it your happy ending, you know?”

“So wise,” Oberyn teased. “And who is this sage of knowledge that I must seek out? Are they on a mountaintop somewhere? Will I have to complete a series of tests to earn my answer?”

“It’s Ellaria Sand,” Elia answered demurely. “And I shouldn’t think you’d have to do any of that. She’s coming to the wedding.”

“Wait what?” Oberyn spluttered, abandoning his feigned nonchalance. “Since when?”

Ellaria had been his highschool... girlfriend seemed too reductive a word. Partner in crime.

Her father, some Dornish diplomat, had enrolled her in Prep after she’d been expelled from the Convent of the Maiden in a storm cloud of scandal. She had classic Dornish looks and sinful curves. She was bold and adventurous and witty and cared not even a little what anybody thought of her. Her father had sent her off to Qarth for college, and neither of them had promised each other a thing. 

He may have spent the odd hour or two late at night scrolling through her social media when he was in a nostalgic or contemplative mood. Ellaria posing with another girl in front of the bells of Norvos, Ellaria sunbathing topless on the sands of Sothyros, Ellaria kissing a burly ginger in front of the Wall. 

“I thought she was in Lys,” Oberyn stammered lamely. Not that he kept tabs on her whereabouts. Just if they’d ever happened to be in the same city, he might text her for a drink. For old time’s sake.

“She was,” Elia was playing with her hair. 

“And she wasn’t any friend of Cersei’s,” Oberyn frowned. For starters Cersei didn’t have friends so much as lackeys, and then there was the fact that Ellaria’s father was very much not married to her mother. Cersei would have found the whiff of scandal off brand. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d be invited to the wedding.”

“She wasn’t,” Elia seemed very concerned by one curl in particular, winding and rewinding it around her finger.

“My dearest sister,” Oberyn’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”

“Oh I invited her as your plus one,” Elia said brightly. “I texted her and said you were embarrassed to impose on her because you knew she wasn’t in the country, but it would mean the world to you to have her there.”

“YOU WHAT?!”

“Look it’s Arthur!” Elia got to her feet and skipped over to her fiancé, leaving Oberyn sitting flummoxed poolside.

“Elia you can’t just... why would you think that...” Oberyn struggled to his feet and took a deep breath.

“Did you even consider the implications of a message like that??”

“That you miss her and want to see her again?” Elia asked, from safely in Arthur’s arms, Oberyn noted sourly.

“And that I’m pining for her, and I want to get back together, possibly exclusively, and Elia, I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment!” Oberyn snapped.

“It’s Ellaria. She knows who you are. Nobody changes that much in six years,” Elia waved a hand to dismiss his concerns.

“You’d better be right, for your sake,” Oberyn glared at her.

“Easy Martell,” Arthur tsked. “Now I came up to remind you guys that the car is coming to pick us up in half an hour. 

Oberyn sulked the entire car ride there, while Elia, seemingly determined to rub salt in the wound, blithely chatted to Arthur about their own wedding plans (a not so secret elopement to the Maldyves).

Of course he wanted Ellaria back in his life. It just wasn’t as simple as Elia made it out to be! He needed to feel her out, see what she wanted, make sure it was compatible with what he wanted. It was delicate!! An off the cuff spontaneous invitation would have been best. Until certain meddling sisters stuck their noses where they didn’t belong.

He wasn’t nervous, though it had taken him uncharacteristically long to get ready. And his hair was doing this weird floppy thing—Oberyn glared at it in the reflection of the car window. Traitor.

This was still salvageable. Of course it was. He had to be casual. Breezy. Lightly amused by his sister and her schemes. Certainly not sit next to Ellaria in the sept, but perhaps afterwards, at the cocktail hour, propose a drink. For old times’ sake.

They arrived approximately ten minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to take place, Oberyn trying to project a devil-may-care nonchalance as he walked through the foyer of the Great Sept.

Where was she? Every flash of red (Ellaria never could resist a deep scarlet for special occasions) caught his eye. But he was alone! Exposed! She could come out of nowhere and he would have no excuse not to sit with her. The plan would be ruined.

Searching for a companion with whom to seem preoccupied, his eyes fell on a familiar forlorn figure.

“Mace!” Oberyn gave him a hearty hug. Excellent, the man could be relied upon for a long-winded story that would let Oberyn pretend deep interest, even as he surreptitiously scanned the crowds for his quarry.

“How are you?” He asked absently, when the story did not immediately start.

“I feel not quite well,” Mace mumbled.

“Problems of the stomach?” Oberyn asked sympathetically, recalling Mace’s history of indigestion.

“In a way,” Mace said wanly.

“Well buck up! Now let’s both laugh like you’ve said something hilarious.”

“Wha—?”

Oberyn laughed heartily and slapped Mace on the back.

“You are too funny, my friend. Now what has been going on with you? Spare me no detail. Has your mother written you back into the will after the tattoo incident.”

“My mother...” Mace’s face darkened. “Let me tell you something about my mother...”

Ah excellent. Oberyn put on an expression of neutral interest and resumed scanning. Where was she? 

Not with Cassana Baratheon, wrapped in an uncharacteristically unattractive black shawl and clutching the hand of her husband, who looked rather bored. Oberyn paused a moment to admire Steffon’s form—it was shocking really that he’d never slept with any of his friends’ parents. Over there was Stannis talking earnestly to Doran... oh dear, Doran seemed quite displeased. Oberyn quickly hurried to the Starks—he winked at Benjen, who turned red and looked away. 

His search was cut short by the bells chiming, signaling that guests should begin proceeding into the High Sept. Shortly thereafter, that lovely Brienne Tarth made an announcement to that effect.

Obediently, Oberyn prepared to tug at Mace’s arm. Let it never be said that he couldn’t take direction.

“And to find her fucking Tywin Lannister in the library of the High Sept! It’s not just the grossness of it all, it’s the HYPOCRISY!” Mace was finishing. Oberyn felt a pang of regret at missing this story, which seemed more interesting than Mace’s usual repertoire.

“We’ll revisit the subject later,” Oberyn said soothingly. “Now let’s get into the chapel. You have no objections to me joining you and Alerie, I trust?”

The ceremony, executed with Cersei’s usual flair for the elegant, was well done in Oberyn’s book. Also short and snappy, which was only a positive. That two people who Oberyn had privately long doubted were capable of feeling much of anything at all were now staring at each other with a look he might describe as besotted... well he still wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

Robert and Cersei led the procession out of the chapel toward the fleet of cars waiting to whisk them to the Red Keep. Oberyn gamely picked up Loras and hopped in the car with Alerie and Mace before anybody could say anything to the contrary, as Alerie looked like she might.

“Nice to get cozy isn’t it?” Oberyn flashed her his most dazzling smile. “And I’ve missed my little godson!”

“I’ve missed you Uncle Oby,” Loras said back solemnly, and Oberyn ruffled his mop of curls. He felt a pang for little Daemon Sand. He would be traveling up to White Harbor after the wedding to meet the real Tyene in person.

Just then, he thought he caught a glimpse of scarlet in the corner of his eye, disappearing into a car further down the line. His head snapped backwards.

“Who got in that car? Mace, did you see?” Oberyn demanded.

“Um no, I could hop out and check?” Mace offered helpfully.

“Yes please,” Oberyn said, right as Alerie said “Don’t be ridiculous.”

There was as a pause as the two glared at each other over Loras’ head. 

“Oh it’s not trouble, I’ll just,” Mace was fumbling for the car door as the car in question pulled away.

“Driver, follow that car!” Oberyn shouted dramatically.

“No need to shout, my hearing is perfectly fine for now,” the driver replied glumly. “Worse luck for that, since all I get is asinine customers with their silly instructions. Follow that car. Like we aren’t all going to the same place.”

“Of course, my apologies,” Oberyn said through gritted teeth as their car painstakingly pulled out.

“No need to apologize, it is what it is. And it can always be worse and usually gets worse. In my experience. We could be hit by another car, or we could get a flat, or a speeding ticket, or...”

“My good man,” Oberyn interjected.

“You can call me Edd,” the driver sighed.

“Edd, get us to the Godswood Gardens. And step on it.”

Oberyn was out of the car while it was still moving, with a kiss on Loras’ head and a promise to call Mace soon. Poor chap really did seem to be going through something.

But first to find that scarlet! Oberyn had taken three steps into the Godswood when he found something entirely different.

“Oberyn!” Doran grabbed Oberyn by the arm. “Can I talk to you for just a moment?”

It appeared that Stannis (Stannis!!!) had crashed the convertible. Repairs were likely to cost hundreds of thousands of dragons. Oberyn winced.

Had Doran not explicitly leant the car to Oberyn?!? For a weekend?!?! And now it turns up smashed to smithereens on the shoulder of a highway two weeks later!?!?!?

Oberyn was growing increasingly antsy, but Doran was not to be deterred, if the iron grip on Oberyn’s shoulder was any indication.

Just when Oberyn was giving up the cocktail hour, and perhaps the remainder of the wedding as a lost cause, Doran encountered his kryptonite.

“Doran, you’ve been ignoring me all wedding,” Elia pouted, pulling her older brother into a hug. “And I haven’t even seen you since the last time you were in King’s Landing!”

Doran wavered in the face of his adored baby sister, and then made a last ditch attempt to stay the course.

“I was waylaid,” Doran said stiffly, “by a young man informing me that my priceless and historic automobile had been totaled!”

“Oh but you have about eight insurance policies on that thing. It’ll be as good as new,” Elia laughed, linking her arms with him. “Now what’s this I hear about Mellario being pregnant?!”

She pulled him down the garden path, towing him helplessly in her wake. Oberyn stared after them, shocked to have been extricated so seamlessly.

“Oh look, the dogwood blossoms are still blooming!” Elia reached up to smell one and cast a look back at Oberyn.

GO, she mouthed.

With a start, Oberyn broke his reverie and hurried away.

So intent was he on putting distance between himself and his siblings, that he nearly collided with someone rounding a stone water fountain.

“I do apologize,” Oberyn gave his victim a quick bow. A young woman, his eyes moved up her legs... in a scarlet dress. He lifted his chin to meet her gaze and an amused Ellaria Sand stared back.

“Perhaps I could make it up to you,” he gave his most charming smile. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Strong words for someone who was pining for me from across continents,” Ellaria laughed, a rich sultry sound. Gods she looked good.

“A joke of my sister’s I’m afraid. I’m sorry to have lured you here under false pretenses,” Oberyn gave a languid shrug.

“I’m sorry to have been late to the ceremony than. I thought, if you were truly lovelorn, sitting through a wedding might give you unwelcome ideas,” Ellaria smirked, full lips quirking in an inviting smile.

Oberyn couldn’t help himself, he reached out and spun her into a hug, her body melting against his in that way it always had.

“It is so good to see you, Ellaria,” he said against her hair.

“What would you say to a drink?” Ellaria peeked up at him through her wavy black hair. “For old time’s sake?”


	46. Mace (Shotgun! 9 of 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra points if you find the nod to Arrested Development... Olenna Tyrell = Lucille Bluth, it is known.

They were ushering the wedding guests from the Godswood gardens to the main courtyard of the Red Keep for dinner.

Mace’s stomach growled, and it was a testament to his friendship with Oberyn that he bothered looking for the man to see if he wanted to crash at the Tyrell table rather than immediately turning to the task of finding his place card.

He found him sitting on a bench, half entwined with Ellaria Sand. If experience had taught Mace anything, Oberyn not only did not need to crash at the Tyrell table, but in all likelihood he would not be coming to dinner at all.

Mace hurried back toward the Red Keep, allowing his mind to drift toward the dinner ahead. After the truly... appalling... events of the afternoon, he needed more than ever this bright spot to look forward to.

The Red Keep kitchens were famous, the site the perennial holder of the best restaurant in King’s Landing. Mace had taken a peek at the menu while his family were mingling during the the cocktail hour, and it looked like they would be having a pear and burrata salad to start, followed by a small truffle pasta dish, followed by the seared duck. Mace’s mouth watered at the prospect. And then, the cherry on the sundae, Cersei was serving a wedding cake with not two, not three, but four distinct flavor palettes! 

Mace was the first person to his table, and hovered next to his seat. His mother was always after him to get more hobbies and independent interests. The truth was, he had started a food blog during college as a bit of a lark. As “Gary Gourmand”, he traveled all of Dorne, sampling local delicacies, trendy new restaurants and the classic grande dames. 

It had just been for fun, sharing his thoughts about food with other people who cared about food. He knew his mother and Alerie wouldn’t approve, so he’d never spoken of the subject. But the fact was, he’d started getting contacted by advertisers. Sometimes it was just the offer of a free meal for a review. More often it was product placement, both in the advertising space on his blog or mentioning the product in his articles. (Mace never did those.)

So yeah, it was all in good fun, but last year Gourmand Gary had made fifteen thousand dragons.

Not enough to live on, not even enough to let him quit his awful day job at the family company, but Mace had never been very good at anything in his entire life. And now he had fifteen thousand dragons in a secret little bank account for Loras. More than that, he had a community! People who commented on his blog, asking questions, offering suggestions for where to try next, even vehemently disagreeing with him! It was exhilarating, these friendships with strangers who had never met him and would never know him as Olenna Tyrell’s son.

It was for them that Mace was so looking forward to dinner at the Red Keep. Gourmand Gary would try every bite on this menu, and all his followers would be able reap the benefits. After all, the Red Keep was famously expensive. They deserved to know what the fuss was all about. Culminating in a custom-made, never before tried four-layer wedding cake.

So even though he had forgotten the wedding ring and let down all of his friends and even though he had caught his mother, after spending an entire lifetime lecturing him for being such a disappointment, having sex with TYWIN LANNISTER IN THE HIGH SEPT (Mace squirmed, gods it sounded like a demented mad lib), at least he still had dinner to look forward to.

“Pookie, it’s all too horrible,” his wife nearly wailed as she came rushing over. 

Cersei Lannister—Cersei Baratheon—Cersei Lannister-Baratheon? had greeted her in the Godswood and in front of everybody, had called her Alysanne.

“Alysanne like your sister? Alerie, that doesn’t sound so terrible, I mean the two of you do look a lot alike” — and maybe your parents shouldn’t have had so many girls and given two of them A-names, Mace added mentally before Alerie cut him off.

It wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t an accident. Cersei Lannister-Baratheon never did anything by accident.

“So we do think she’s going with the hyphen?”

It was a deliberate snub!!! In front of everybody, Cersei was not so subtly signaling that Alerie Tyrell was not a person whose name was worth remembering! All because Alerie had the unmitigated gall to spread a rumor that Mace had told her! This was the kind of thing that people noticed! They were up for golf club membership next year! What if they had to remain pool members? What if Loras didn’t get invited on the right play dates? What if Alerie wasn’t tapped for the boards of any of the good charities??

Mace wondered what a bad charity was.

“I even have it on good authority that she demoted us to the base layer of the wedding cake!” Alerie wailed.

Wait, what?

“Dear gods,” Mace put down his glass of water carefully. “You can’t be serious.”

But Alerie was serious. This... this menace, this harpy, this vindictive shrew to whom he had given his mother’s ring at great personal cost, was consigning them to the base layer!

Somewhere deep in Mace’s brain, some tiny filament snapped.

When Olenna Tyrell arrived at the table, she found her son and her daughter-in-law sitting quietly.

“Why did I see Cersei Lannister-Baratheon wearing my ring in her wedding photos?” Olenna began testily.

“I don’t know mother,” Mace said in a strange calm voice that sounded like it was coming from somewhere very far off indeed. “Why did I see you pulling Tywin Lannister into an empty room in the sept?”

And it certainly seemed as if Olenna were at a loss for words.

What might have quickly become a very ugly exchange was saved by the arrival of various Redwynes and Hightowers, followed in short order by a pear and burrata salad drizzled in an apple balsamic glaze.

If anyone noticed that Mace Tyrell (who usually became quite gregarious after a glass of wine) was unusually quiet, they did not say anything. Aside from a few nervous looks from his wife and a few glares from his mother, the table proceeded through dinner with a high level of merriment.

While Mace personally thought the seared duck fell just short of nirvana, the undisputed highlight for the rest of the table was Cassana Baratheon’s solo. She was rumored to be performing after the main course, and the table was split on whether she still had the necessary talent. Those who had attended the engagement party tended firmly in the ‘she’s still got it’ camp, whereas the remainder were more skeptical.

“You can’t tell me she still sounds like she did when she was eighteen! She’s so old!” Alysanne Hightower insisted, though she quavered as Olenna turned to eye her frostily.

“And the stakes are so high tonight, the entire arts world has been buzzing about her return to the stage,” Paxter Redwyne chipped in. “You can’t tell me the pressure isn’t a factor.”

“Nephew, let me give you some advice,” Olenna drawled. “In my years of experience, I’ve learned not to bet against a Baratheon. They have the devil’s own luck.”

Sure enough, moments after the plates were swept away by an army of waiters, the lights dimmed. A low murmur of anticipation swept through the crowd before subsiding into hushed silence. Even Mace, who was furiously taking notes for his blog on his cell phone, felt compelled to glance up.

After a pause, a single spotlight illuminated the dance floor. A pure white beam cutting through the darkness and highlighting... nobody.

Mace blinked, a tad bewildered. Equipment malfunction?

The rest of the guests felt likewise, a restless hum of discontent breaking the quiet.

Then, there was a charming, deprecating cough.

The spotlight moved to the other side of the dance floor.

Renly Baratheon smiled cheekily into the light.

Before Mace had time to ponder this unexpected turn of events, there was a light swell of instrumental music.

With confidence and poise, Renly began singing “Oh Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass,” a love song for which Mace had always had a sentimental fondness. 

But even if he hadn’t, Renly’s unexpectedly rich tenor, the emotion he poured into each lyric, just his sheer presence, earnest and young and hopelessly vulnerable, would have brought tears to his eyes.

Such was the poignancy of the moment that even Olenna passed him a handkerchief without so much as looking away from the singer.

As the last tender words faded into the darkness, the entire ballroom was left holding their breath, caught in a kind of spell. 

And then as one, the room erupted into rapturous applause.

“Encore!!” Paxter bellowed, and Alyssane practically swooned in her chair. Mace wondered if she knew Renly was gay.

“Daddy,” he felt a tug at his sleeve. It was Loras, looking up with his big blue eyes and mop of honey brown curls. He must have wandered over from the children’s table, that scamp.

“Daddy, is he an angel?” Loras asked, staring at Renly in wistful fascination.

Mace was saved from having to answer by the repeated stomping cheers of encore, which have started with the Redwynes, now spread like wildfire through the tables.

Sure enough, Renly, who had sat demurely back down at the head table, lifted a rueful hand in sheepish acknowledgment.

The band struck up again.

With some reluctance, Renly stood and picked his microphone back up.

(For someone so embarrassed at this display of enthusiasm, he seemed to know exactly which song was coming, Mace did think.)

Then with a jaunty wink at the audience, Renly launched into “The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown.”

Whereas the prior song had been full of pathos and yearning, this song was all warmth and ribald merriment. Renly’s voice was practically an invitation to join in, and soon the whole room was bellowing the chorus, even the ever decorous bride.

The song finished with whoops and cheers and whistles, and it took Cersei Lannister-Baratheon leaning into the microphone to say, “Now settle down, or nobody gets any cake!” to calm the crowd.

Mace immediately went quiet, drumming his hands on the table, Loras now firmly ensconced in his lap.

The base layer was a slap in the face of course, but the fact was, he was hardly going to be served each of the four layers as it was. Gary Gourmand was always going to need every bit of his wiles to finagle a bite of each of the three remaining layers. 

The cake was being wheeled out now, and Mace craned his neck to get a better view. Four layers as promised, base vanilla, second some kind of decadent chocolate on chocolate, third... was that a raspberry cheesecake melange? And fourth.

Mace blinked.

The fourth layer was a perfect cake replica of the Sept of Baelor itself.

Gorgeous stained glass windows, the famous steeples, a little spun sugar Baelor statue... Mace eyed the marzipan stonework at the base, and realized he was drooling.

There was a cute scene as Robert and Cersei cut the cake together, and Robert held out a bite. He clearly wanted to smear her face with it, but with the arch of a single golden eyebrow, he docilely held his hand steady for her. She kissed him then, and an audible ‘Awwwww’ rippled through the room.

The army of waiters returned to their stations, each bearing a plate.

A humble slice of vanilla cake was set before him.

Mace exchanged a glance with his wife, who was blushing furiously.

The rest of the the table was eating chocolate, with the exception of his mother, who had been served a slice of rich golden, marbled with the pinkest of reds.

Mace swallowed, and crumpled the napkin in his hands.

“Why does your slice look so boring, Daddy?” 

“There’s been a mix up with the slices, darling. These silly waiters,” his wife laughed, high and artificial.

Olenna snorted, and Alerie glared at her. Olenna stared coolly back.

Mace cut a bite of the vanilla and consoled himself that it was actually quite good in an understated way. Smooth and subtly complex, he pictured Gary Gourmand saying as he took another bite, and nodded to himself.

He was surprised, as he often was, to find his plate quite empty as he reached for another piece.

“Here, take mine coz,” Paxter pushed over his chocolate slice.

Mace gave him a grateful smile. Halfway there without any effort!

The chocolate was sinfully rich, a slide into absolute luxury. But was it too overpowering? Mace took a thoughtful sip of wine and then reached for his fork again. Nope, it was perfect.

“Daddy, may I have some?” His little son chirped. Mace eyed the last bite wistfully, but dutifully passed the fork downward to the tiny extended hand. 

As Loras chewed quietly, Mace surreptitiously eyed his mother’s slice of cheesecake, barely touched. 

He swallowed, steeling his nerve. What would Gary Gourmand do? Mace squared his shoulders.

“Mother, would you mind if I had a bite of your cake?” Mace asked politely.

“You’ve had quite enough already,” Olenna looked over at him and then went back to talking to Garth Tyrell.

“Just a bite, I’m curious about the flavor,” Mace tried again.

“I said no, Mace. ” Olenna dismissed him again.

Mace ground his teeth. This was just like his mother. She practically got off on being withholding. 

On another night, he might have stewed in resigned silence. But this was the Red Keep. This was for Gary. And maybe he’d realized that his mother wasn’t exactly infallible herself.

Mace waited until she was leaning over to poke Garth in the chest for emphasis on some point. He reached out a stealthy fork. He cut a wedge—his fork sliding smoothly through the cake like silk—he started the retreat.

“Mace!” Olenna snapped and smacked his hand, and he dropped the fork with a yelp. The rest of the table paused in their conversations to look over.

“If you’re going to be such a child, maybe you should go back with Loras to the children’s table,” Olenna said snidely.

Mace blinked. He looked down at Loras. 

“Let’s go, buddy.”

He ignored the squawk of dismay from his wife and the harrumph of disapproval from his mother.

“We’re not really going to the children’s table, are we?” Loras whispered up to him. “Tyrek Lannister stole somebody’s phone and the big boys are looking up naked ladies. It’s gross.”

Mace cast a glance at the table in question. Were those pudding cups? He shuddered.

“We are not.”

He wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, his feet moving somewhat aimlessly, until a gentle hand caught his elbow.

Mace paused, looking down into warm caramel eyes.

“Mace, have you seen my brother?” Elia asked. She looked delicately beautiful, as always, a lovely strapless yellow dress exposing her slender shoulders.

Mace smiled at her automatically.

“You know Oberyn, he saw an old friend,” he gave a sheepish laugh.

To his surprise, Elia looked pleased rather than annoyed.

“Here, take his chair and tell me all about it,” she said, gesturing at the empty setting and untouched cheesecake.

Wait.

Mace did a double take at the cheesecake.

“Mace Tyrell, don’t tell me you don’t have time for me,” Elia tugged his arm. “It’s been ages since we caught up.”

Like he was in a dream, he allowed himself to be pulled down into the seat, the perfect triangle of the cake placidly awaiting his arrival.

“Oberyn ran into Ellaria Sand in the Godswood,” Mace began hesitantly. Cautiously, he picked up Oberyn’s fork, and glanced back at Elia. She only smiled at him encouragingly.

Emboldened, he cut a piece of the cake.

“You know how he’s always missed her. Not that he’s ever said that of course,” Mace corrected hastily, but Elia only gave him a knowing nod.

Mace took a breath and then took a bite.

“Gods. Exquisite.” He breathed. Elia frowned.

“I mean, Ellaria looked exquisite. And she looked happy to see him too. They were getting a drink and looking very cozy when I saw them last,” Mace elided the ended as gracefully as he could. Elia laughed, possibly seeing what he had done.

“I’m happy for him. He was so proud and stubborn about admitting that he missed her,” she shook her head at Mace in a conspiratorial way. Mace would have said something back, but his mouth was full of cheesecake.

“Hi Aunty Elia,” Loras inserted himself. Mace patted his curls approvingly.

As his precocious son entertained his dining companion, Mace let himself fully luxuriate in the contrast between the creaminess of the cheesecake and the playful tartness of the raspberry. He had to admit, each layer individually was a masterpiece, but the higher he got, the more complex the flavor palate became. First subtle, then bold, then playful. 

But the fourth... how could the Red Keep kitchens possibly outdo themselves? And yet the sheer visual splendor of that Sept... Mace again felt his mouth water.

They had cleared the uncut cake, and Mace’s head swiveled, trying to determine the easiest approach.

The initial scouting report was grim. It appeared that only the wedding party’s table had received slices from the top tier. Mace squinted. So the Lannisters (he mentally shuddered at the idea of asking Tywin for some of his dessert, and then mentally shuddered at the idea of ever looking Tywin in the face again), the Baratheons, Ned, Cat, Lysa, Mr. Arryn—wait what was he doing there?, Thoros, Beric, Thoros’ sister and Jaime’s girlfriend.

Worse still, most of them seemed firmly in the clean plate club. Mace winced as he watched Mr. Arryn hold his last bite out to Lysa to take.

Cersei, naturally, hadn’t so much as touched hers and Mace ground his teeth. He wasn’t a particularly vengeful person, but there was only so much a man could be expected to endure. Regardless, asking her was out of the question.

Steffon and Cassana were mysteriously absent, and Mace shifted in his seat to peak at their plates. Steffon’s plate was empty, but Cassana’s...

Robert reached over and dumped her slice onto his own plate.

Mace ground his teeth.

Stannis was done, the Asshais were both done, Brienne was done, Renly was... 

Renly was not done.

Renly was surrounded by a crowd of well wishers, laughing and shaking hands. He wasn’t even looking at his cake.

“Elia, I’m supposed to return my son to the children’s table,” Mace, a perpetually terrible liar, felt the words slip smoothly out.

“If you see my brother, tell him Elia said I told you so,” Elia gave him a light embrace. “Loras you get more handsome every time I see you.”

Loras preened, and Mace had to practically pry him from Elia’s side.

“Where are we going now?” Loras asked.

“To congratulate Renly Baratheon on his performance,” Mace answered absentmindedly. 

Loras’ eyes got very round again, and his thumb found its way into his mouth.

Odd, Mace thought he had outgrown that habit a while ago.

Mace edged his way through the crowd, pleased to see Renly talking to a rather weedy looking man who Mace didn’t recognize at all.

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t monopolize him all evening,” Mace gave a pompous little laugh and used his not insubstantial bulk to displace the fellow altogether.

Far from being relieved to be gracefully extricated from an awkward prolonged conversation with a stranger, Renly’s face darkened.

“Mace, what the actual fuck?!” Renly hissed.

Mace blinked, taken aback. He glanced nervously at the slice of a cornerstone on Renly’s plate, marzipan glistening. This did not seem to be the opportunity to cadge a bite that Mace was hoping for.

“I wanted to say well done,” Mace stammered. “Um please don’t swear in front of my son.”

“That was an honest to gods casting director! He’s putting together a high school drama and is looking for fresh young talent! And you... you scared him off!” Renly snarled sotto voce, nostrils flaring. 

“I didn’t mean to, I mean if there’s anything I can do...” Mace tried to backpeddle, glancing forlornly at the cake on the table.

“Get your fat ass and your snotty little son out of my face!” Renly whispered at them.

“Good to see you old man!” He said more loudly, and in a pretense of clapping Mace on the back, shoved him on his way.

Mace squeezed Loras more tightly and hurried on.

“He called me... snotty,” Loras said quietly.

Mace stopped and sighed and put Loras down.

“He was in a bad mood I guess. People say things they don’t mean when they’re in a bad mood.”

“He meant it,” Loras retorted, fists clenching. “He called me snotty and he called you fat. I HATE him.”

Mace was alarmed to see his son on the verge of tears, and knelt down so they were eye level.

“He’s nothing but a... a...” Mace tried to think of the right insult.

“A poo poo head!” Loras growled.

“Yes. And you’ll never have to see him again,” Mace promised his son, hugging him. “Now who wants some cake?”

“Daddy!” Loras giggled into his shoulder between hicuppy sobs. “You always want cake!”

“Are you saying you DON’T want cake?” Mace pulled a sad face, just to hear his son giggle again. He didn’t think there was a better sound.

“I do! I do!” Loras flung his arms around Mace’s neck, and Mace picked him up again, steeled with determination.

If they couldn’t find a slice, they would go straight to the source.

To say the kitchen staff were surprised when a guest walked in clutching a child was an understatement. The frantic clean up and preparations for the next day came to a standstill.

“Sir, can I help you?” A sous-chef hurried up to him, clearly intent on barring any further progress.

“I hope so,” Mace said, wishing with all his heart for just a little bit of that Baratheon luck. “Does the name Gary Gourmand mean anything to you?”

The sous-chef stopped in his tracks, expression unreadable. Then a wrinkle of a frown appeared in his face. Oh dear.

“But Gary is in Highgarden!” The sous chef said accusingly. “Someone would have warned us if he were coming!”

Mace felt his jaw drop, and then, reminding himself that Gary didn’t stand around staring like some slack-jawed yokel, turned it into an attempt at a sophisticated chuckle.

“I could hardly advertise that I was attending the Lannister-Baratheon wedding. That might expose my identity!” He patted the man on the shoulder, and pulled out his phone. “Any of these look familiar?”

The man looked at the rows of photos, all featured on Gary’s blog.

“What did you give the Golden Rose?” The sous chef demanded.

“Three and a half stars. It’s time someone pointed out that they’re coasting on their reputation,” Mace replied promptly.

“Gods... it’s really Gary!” The sous chef turned back to the dishwasher standing near him.

Mace, who had never merited a second glance let alone a wave of exulting adoration that would have left Renly Baratheon seething in envy, nearly reeled as the most talented kitchen in all of King’s Landing swarmed forward.

“Finally someone who appreciates the southern Dornish cuisine!” A gorgeous woman Mace had seen tending bar kissed him on the cheek. Mace blushed.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to take the Golden Rose down for years,” a prep cook confided, shaking his hand heartily.

“Give him some space!” The sous chef, who as his discoverer, seemed to feel some proprietary ownership, shooed his colleagues back. “Now Gary, what can we do for you?”

“Like most pastry chefs in the quality King’s Landing restaurants, I trained in Lys,” an elderly and somewhat plain woman was saying, her face glowing with the interest Mace was showing in her work and the compliments on the cake he had thus far bestowed.

“I spent most of my career there, but they can be such slaves to the way things are always done. I decided it was time for a change up, so I moved to King’s Landing. I served as the head pastry chef at The Crossroads for eight years, before coming here,” she continued, opening a door into a back pantry.

Mace stopped dead. There, on a high shelf, quietly waiting to be boxed, was the cake.

“Well I’ll just leave you two here for a few minutes,” the pastry chef winked. The door swung shut.

“Look, a ladder!” Loras pointed at a rolling stepladder in the corner.

Mace plopped him down, and rolled the ladder in question over the shelves.

High above him, the marvelous Sept of Baelor glowed with an unearthly majesty. Gazing upon it really did feel like a religious experience. Mace wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and began to climb.

He was on the top step, straining to reach the cake when he realized he might have a problem. Whomever had been in charge of putting it in a safe spot had clearly been taller than Mace. Plus the cake was quite heavy. 

“Try climbing on the counter,” Loras said from below.

Mace winced at the idea of dirtying the sacred counters of the Red Keep kitchens with his feet, but it was for a very good cause. He put one foot on and tested it for durability. It held. He pushed up, and his hands closed around the bottom of the tray.

The cake was very heavy, and his cursed sweaty hands weren’t helping, but with the gentle care that he might use to brush out Loras’ tangles, he wrestled off the shelf and into his arms.

That was naturally when the door swung open.

“Mace Tyrell,” his mother’s voice had the bone chilling cold of the far North. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Mace grunted as he looked over the cake to see his mother in the doorway. Flanked by a smirking Cersei Lannister-Baratheon.

“Having my cake and eating it too?” Mace gave a sarcastic shrug, the cake wobbling precariously. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You will get down from there this instant!” Olenna jabbed her finger at him.

“Or what? You’ll give me a lecture on self-control? Please mother, let’s hear your thoughts on self-control,” Mace yawned.

“Really Mace, are you actually eating away your mommy issues? A bit trite, don’t you think?” Cersei drawled.

“Hey Cersei, your dad banged my mom in the church before the wedding,” Mace shot back, feeling well and truly on a roll.

“Excuse me?” Cersei turned on Olenna.

“Oh save the wilting flower act dear, it doesn’t become a pregnant bride.”

“Wait WHAT?” Mace took a step back at the news, only to realize in one of those painful crystallized moments that seem to stretch for an eternity, that there was nowhere to step.

For a brief moment, he hung in the air, his mother’s wince and Cersei expression of horror frozen.

Then there was a painful jolt through his body as he landed, but not as painful as he was expecting. He had been cushioned by something soft. And sticky. He lifted a finger to his mouth. And sweet.

“Daddy?” Loras said uncertainly. Mace lifted his head to see his only child covered in the exploded remnants of the Sept of Baelor. Mace imagined he looked equally wrecked.

Still.

With the sigh of someone who has come this far, he scooped a generous handful off the floor.

That seemed to break the spell as to the onlookers.

“MY CAKE!” Cersei howled.

“Mace, don’t you dare...” Olenna started.

Mace defiantly shoved it into his mouth.

“Oh no, Daddy!” Loras laughed. But he discretely tried picked a spun sugar flower off the ground and popped it into his own mouth.

“Mace, THAT IS DISGUSTING!” His mother shouted.

“It’s fucking delicious,” Mace contradicted her mildly. And you know what? It really was.


End file.
